


hot for teacher

by birdjay



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes-centric, Bucky barnes is a goober, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers is Not Captain America
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-06-16 21:43:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 44,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15446499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdjay/pseuds/birdjay
Summary: “I can tell you really like your job,” Steve offered, with a smile. He gestured to the small toy soldier, and then to a replica of the first American flag. “Not everyone decorates their rooms quite this much.”Bucky shrugged. “Things make history seem more real. Otherwise, it’s just a story to these kids.”Steve looked at him for a moment, seemingly taking him in. Bucky resisted the urge to duck and hide, or turn twenty shades of red. “You’re one of the real ones, aren’t you?”Bucky gave him a confused look.Steve waved a hand, and tried again. “You really care about them. That they actually learn and not just memorize, right?”Bucky nodded slowly. “That’s my job, isn’t it?”Steve beamed at him. “Yeah, but not everyone does it the way you seem to.”———————————Bucky Barnes is a high school American History teacher, who falls completely head over heels for the new art teacher.





	1. summer’s over

The summer was, as always, much too short. Over before it started, if he was being honest with himself. School let out at the end of May, and three way too brief months later started up again. Cyclical. Always the same. And yet, Bucky was caught by surprise. For the fifth year in a row.

It wasn’t like he had an excuse, either. Ninety percent of his friends were teachers, too. Hell, they all worked in the same district. So why was he the only one running around the high school two days before term started?

Natasha would no doubt tell him the answer, if he cared to know. Well, no. That was a lie. He _knew_ the answer. It was “procrastination.” But just because he knew the answer, didn’t mean he knew how to fix his problem.

Speaking of, where the hell did his poster tack go? He’d had it five seconds ago…he fumbled around with his flesh hand on the shelf, feeling for the slightly sticky blob of yellow. There. He managed to locate it without knocking everything off the shelf.

Five minutes later, and all of his posters were up. Why they couldn’t just let him keep his old room this year was beyond him. Bucky had received notice a week before school let out that they were reorganizing the next year, and that he’d have to vacate his classroom before the semester was out. He’d managed, but only with help from some of his favorite students. They had stacked all his books in boxes, rolled up posters and packaged away all his knick-knacks between classes. He’d repaid them by throwing them a pizza party. But, they’d graduated or moved up a grade and weren’t his students anymore. Which meant unpacking his classroom was all on him. Oh joy.

He’d been in the building since 7:00 am and so far, didn’t have much to show for it. His posters were up — propaganda from WWII, Washington crossing the Delaware, and a Saving Private Ryan movie poster. The wooden bookshelves his brother-in-law had made for him were standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by box covered desks. He’d have to have Sam help him move those — he couldn’t do it by himself. His own desk was shoved against the wall under the white board. Not exactly a place conducive to teaching.

Bucky clambered down off the stepladder he’d been using, and felt around in his pockets for his phone. Might as well get this taken care of now, or his new kids would be learning around 3 bookcases all semester. He shot off a quick text to the physics teacher, and hoped for the best.

                    You coming in today? Need help.

His phone buzzed in hand.

                   You know it, my man. Be in in about an hour.

                   Want anything from McDonalds?

Bucky snorted, and then typed out his own response.

                   Big mac. Dr. Pepper. Fries. Thanks. :)

Sam sent back a thumbs up emoji, which meant Bucky could go back to figuring out his classroom.

He shifted his desk around as best as he could with one working arm. After a minute or two of pushing with his hips and legs, the desk was facing out towards the student desks. This way he could keep an eye on the little bastards.

Bucky pulled a lamp out of a box and carefully placed it on the corner of his desk, tweaking the shade so it hung evenly. A cheap and rather ugly hula girl waggled her hips at him from her new home. The lamp had been a joke gift from Tony, the chemistry teacher. Or rather the _ex_ -Chemistry teacher. He’d quit last year after a lucrative offer from a nearby tech firm. Tony claimed he’d end up owning the company before the year was out, but no one believed him. He was prone to over exaggeration at the best of times. The kids had liked him, though.

Bucky pulled a mug emblazoned with the American flag out next, and then a handful of pens and markers. They went right into the mug with a pleasant _schnk_ noise. The mug was another gift – – this time from a past student who’d gone to DC on their Christmas vacation. The pens, however, had been acquired over the years. Some bought, most accidentally stolen from banks and insurance companies and doctor offices. Those were the ones Bucky didn’t mind lending out to students. Someone always came to class without a pen, and someone always got their ass chewed out because of it. He was not the type of teacher to let a kid get away with being unprepared. Nope. Not on his time.

That meant some of the kids weren’t his biggest fans. He’d overheard a junior year girl tell some sophomores that he was “hot, but a real hardass.” Bucky would take the title gladly, if it meant his students passed his class with the knowledge they’d need to graduate. And honestly, he wasn’t that bad. He expected his students to be present, to pay attention, and to learn. What about that screamed hardass?

The “hot” bit, though. That never hurt to hear. Bucky smiled to himself, and finished unpacking his desk. Important papers were deposited into the drawers, his personal pens into another, and the remnants of last year’s snack stash into the last, lockable drawer.

Right as he looked up, Sam swung into the room, waving greasy brown McDonald’s bags from one hand, and a drink container in the other. He set them down on Bucky’s desk, and lifted his sunglasses from his face and glanced around the room. He let out a low whistle.

‘You got some shit to do before Monday, man.”

Bucky snorted, hand already diving into the bag he’d identified as his own. “You’re telling me,” he said, taking a bite of his burger. He waved the rest of it at his bookshelves. “Can you help me move those? Can’t do it on my own.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but nodded. “Yeah, of course. But you gotta help me sort the welcome packet for my class, alright?” He dug into his own bag, and shoveled fry after fry into his mouth. “Why’d you leave it this long, anyway? You literally had all summer.”

Bucky shrugged. “Didn’t mean to. Just sort of happened. Would have been fine if they weren’t reorganizing the entire school.”

Sam slowly shook his head. “Not the entire school. Just the lower floor. I didn’t have to move shit. They’re re-adding the art department. Got a big donation or something. They even hired a new teacher. Don’t you read the memos the administration puts out?”

Bucky blinked at him, fry halfway to his mouth.

“I’ll take that as a no, then.” Sam said, clearly resisting the urge to roll his eyes again. He poked a fry in Bucky’s direction. “Eat your food so we can get this done.”

They finished eating, wadding up the bags and dunking them in the trash can. Then, they stood shoulder to shoulder, staring out at the room Bucky would call his for the following year. It wasn’t big by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn’t the smallest room in the building, either. There was a small row of windows on the east wall, facing out towards the main entrance to the school. There were five rows of five desks each, all against the west wall, stacked or shoved haphazardly there. At least this year, most of them seemed to be in tact enough to sit in without endangering anyone’s life.

“Alright, where do you want them?” Sam asked, rubbing a hand over his head.

Bucky pointed, directing Sam as best as he could. He felt bad that Sam had to do all the real work, but it wasn’t like his prosthetic would take the weight of a bookcase well.

Sam wiggled the bookcases back and forth enough that they seemed to walk across the carpet. They ended up with two on the back wall, and another by his desk. Bucky would stop by Target later for a small table to go between the ones on the back wall. He could put another lamp or something to make it feel a little less sterile.

“Ya good with that?” Sam asked after the last bookcase was in place.

Bucky nodded, grinning. “Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome ya freeloader,” Sam said, with a laugh.

“I owe you beer, or food or something…” Bucky mumbled. He pulled a box up onto a desk and started stacking books onto the nearest bookshelf. These were all about Colonial America. The next handful were about the Revolution, and the years afterwards. Whoever had packed his box did it in order. Bucky was grateful.

“Pssht, don’t worry about it. Just help me with my packets.” Sam grabbed another box, and started unpacking. He was well aware of Bucky’s preferences in how the books were organized.

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “Fine. When?”

“After this?” Sam said, with a shrug. He pushed another handful of books onto his bookcase.

“Yeah, alright,” Bucky agreed. He pulled out a tiny lead soldier and stood it carefully up against the spines of some books. It wasn’t an original piece, but the students found the replica rather fascinating nonetheless.

Together, they managed to get the whole room in place and organized in about two hours. Way, way faster than Bucky would have been able to do on his own. That meant he would have all of tomorrow to get his first-day papers printed and ready for Monday. Thank God.

Sam left a little before him, to print the packets he’d mentioned needing help with. Bucky stared at his classroom, feeling a little better about his situation than he had. His lessons were all planned, his tests all written — he’d edit them beforehand — and his readings all figured out. That was never the part he put off. But this — his eyes bounced from desk to bookcase to desk — this was finally done. He could breathe, and not worry about it anymore.

Now all he had to worry about were the students.


	2. the black widow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I THINK the posting schedule will be Sundays and Thursdays. Not set in stone but I’ll try.

He hadn’t had time to take a deep breath since 6:30 am, which was when his alarm went off. Bucky knew the first day of school would be stressful, but this? This was ridiculous. He’d already accidentally gone to his old room not once, but twice, surprising Mrs. Stedgewick both times. She’d been in the middle of introducing herself, and there was Bucky barging in like he’d owned the place. Oops.

His first class hadn’t been too bad. No one came across as being as outrageously obnoxious like Wade had been last year.  He’d known right away that one had been a troublemaker, and he’d been right. Wade had ended up in the principal’s office more times than Bucky could count, six of the incidents originating from his own classroom. It wasn’t like he’d been unintelligent, either. He’d passed every test Bucky put in front of him. He just had this outrageous need to rebel. All the time.

This year, though, it seemed his class would be mostly normal. The usual group of nerds, jocks, and quiet loners. That was fine with him. It meant he’d actually be able to get through his lesson plans without having to pause 50 times to tell someone to stop talking.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair — it was getting on the longer side. He’d have to get it cut soon, but he wasn’t going to worry about it right now. Kids were still filing into his room, plopping down into whatever seat they could find. He was never one for seating charts. Just another thing to plan. He fiddled around behind his desk, trying to look busy while he studied all the new faces. They somehow seemed even younger this year. What was up with that? They were supposed to be sophomores or juniors, right? Why’d they look like they were about twelve years old?

The bell rang suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts. Bucky got up, and shut the door behind the last straggler into the room.

“Alright,” he said, moving so he was standing in front of the screen that he’d pulled down earlier. A slideshow was slowly flicking past, showing images of important bits of American history. The class before him was mostly awake, and the odd few even looked interested in what he had to say. He tried not to look overly enthusiastic as that tended to turn all of them off very quickly. “My name’s Mr. Barnes. I teach first, second and fourth period American History,” He continued, waving his hand at himself. He took a deep breath and soldiered on. “You may have noticed I only have one arm. It’s okay, you can look, I’m not offended by it or anything…”

Bucky waited, letting them all get their fill of his plastic arm. It was painted to look like real skin, but there was no missing that it was fake. He smiled at them, once their eyes bounced back up to his own. “I bet every single one of you is wondering how I lost it, right?” There were a few hesitant nods. “I was in Iraq,” Bucky said, simply. “Caught a bullet in just the right way that just…wasn’t possible to save the arm.” He shrugged his shoulder, as if it didn’t matter. “Let’s see, what’s everyone always want to know….It happened seven years ago. We buried the arm. Yes, it hurts sometimes, and no, I don’t wear the prosthetic all the time.”

He grinned at all of them, and the tension seemed to bleed out of the room.

“You can ask me anything you want to know about it, okay? Never be afraid of me or my fake arm. It’s just plastic. It doesn’t hinder me most days, and if it does, I’m not afraid to ask for help. Now, on to how I run my class…”

Bucky had started every semester with the same speech. He figured getting the elephant out of the room as quickly as possible would just help everyone get over themselves. Plus, it tended to make his students treat him like everyone else, instead of like some delicate flower. He started with the arm, and ended by telling everyone that he expected them to pay attention to his lectures and take notes. This usually had the effect of his students waking up to realize he wasn’t a push over just because he was missing an arm.

They spent the rest of the class by having everyone introduce themselves, going around the room one at a time. Most of the students looked relieved he wasn’t subjecting them to some stupid group building introduction game. Bucky never found that those helped, anyway. They just embarrassed everyone and made the students resent him a little. Not worth it, in the long run. Better to just get to know everyone slowly.

“Alright, so for next class, please make sure you have an empty wide ruled notebook and a pen. That’s all I ask of you, okay? If you show up without one, it’s not gonna be fun for anyone involved…” Bucky announced, as the bell rang. Everyone rushed to their feet, clambering to gather all their belongings and get out the door as quickly as possible. Bucky tugged open the door as held it for them as they left.

“Thanks, Mr. Barnes!” A kid mumbled as he walked by, tugging the hood of his red sweatshirt up over his head. Bucky thought his name was Peter, but who knew at this point? He’d heard over 50 names so far today.

Shutting the door behind the last girl, Bucky turned to face his now empty classroom. There were crumpled bits of paper, a forgotten pen, some candy wrappers and a few paperclips littering his floor. He sighed, and bent to start cleaning up after everyone. His next class wasn’t until 2:45, which meant he’d have time to get everything back in order, and to breathe properly. Maybe he’d even get to sit down.

There was a knock at his door, and it opened immediately after. A redhead peeked in, a predatory grin wide on her face. Of course it was her. Of course.

“Good morning, James,” Natasha said, before sauntering into his classroom. She was wearing skin tight dance pants, a black leotard with a huge white shirt over it, and jazz sneakers. Her bright hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She looked immaculate. “This is your break, yes?”

 “Yeah,” He answered, chucking all the trash into the bin beside his desk. “Yours too?”

“Mhm,” She hummed, slipping around the room, peering at the bookcases and posters. Like she hadn’t seen them before. Bucky rolled his eyes once her back was turned. She’d  _bought_ him some of the things on those shelves. She tossed her head over her shoulder, asking, “Want to get lunch together?”

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah, alright.” He patted his back pocket, to be sure he had his wallet. He hadn’t filled the cafeteria account yet, so he’d have to pay for his meal individually. Not that he actually  _liked_ the cafeteria food, but whatever. He’d forgotten to buy lunch food after the shit show that was the weekend. Whatever the cafeteria was serving would have to do. “How’s your day going so far?”

“Welllllll…” she started, drawing the word out. “I think I’ve scared everyone out of the belief that dance class would be fun.” She turned and grinned at him again. “So now, they’ll take me seriously.”

“Are they afraid you’ll eat them yet?” Bucky asked, snorting. He waved towards the door, and moved to hold it open for her. The hallways were now blissfully quiet. Everyone had made it to their next class.

Natasha smirked as she walked ahead of him. “Not yet, but we have the whole semester ahead of us.”

They made their way towards the cafeteria, passing a few straggling kids who looked completely lost. The noise level only increased as they reached the cafeteria. Masses of students filled the window-walled room, piling onto tables and unpacking their sacked lunches. Old friends were found, and new ones hopefully made as the next half-hour passed.

The cafeteria lines were divided into three different sections. There was the salad bar, with fresh produce and various foodstuffs for students to make their own salad. There was the American line, with burgers and hot dogs and pizza and generally “popular” food. The last line was the random line — it had the daily cafeteria’s choice like meatloaf, chicken nuggets, and enchiladas or whatever they picked. Bucky filed himself behind an unfamiliar kid in the random line, while Natasha made her way through the salad bar.

“So are you seeing anyone lately?” Natasha asked, as they grabbed forks, knives and condiments from the little section by the checkout stand.

Bucky paused in squirting hot sauce over his tacos. “Uh….no?” He answered, confusion written all over his face. The sauce dripped over his fingers, and he stuck them in his mouth to clean them. The spice hit him at the same time a voice shrieked from across the room, leaving him blinking tears out of his eyes.

“MR. BARNES!!” A bouncy teen aged girl shot towards him from across the cafeteria. She screeched to halt right in front of him, beaming up at him. “How was your summer?”

“Hi Yuki,” Bucky coughed, blinking again. He took a breath, and added,  “I had a pretty good summer. How was yours?”

“Oh it was fine, we went to LA for a bit, and I got to see the Hollywood sign and the Hollywood walk of fame and we went shopping and got brand new clothes and I got my hair done in all new colors and then we went to Disneyland and that was way fun, we got to ride all the rides and eat all the food and I got so many pictures with Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck, and did you know the castle in Disneyworld is actually a hotel? But the one in Disneyland isn’t, but that’s so cool!!” Yuki said all of this, rapid fire, without pausing for breath.

Bucky nodded, instantly recalling how Yuki had spoke all last year in his class. The key was to not ask any questions. He smiled at her, and replied with a simple, “Well, that sounds like you had a great time!” He put the hot sauce back, and gathered up his tray. “I hope you have a good first day, okay? I’m gonna go eat now…”

Yuki nodded, and waved and bounced back to wherever she had come from. Natasha came up beside him, and raised her eyebrows. “I’m so glad she wasn’t in any of my classes.”

“She’s actually really sweet? She just…doesn’t know how to stop talking once you get her started…” Bucky offered, with an apologetic look. He started to lead them out of the cafeteria. He preferred to eat in the quiet of his own classroom.

Natasha made a face, but chose to keep quiet on the matter. Instead, she went back to her original subject. “So you’re not dating anyone right now?”

“No, Tasha, I’m not dating anyone right now. Thanks for bringing it up. It’s my favorite talking point.” He didn’t have to look at her to know she’d be rolling her eyes.

“I was just curious…”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Bucky murmured, attempting to open his classroom door with his elbow. He was struggling. Natasha flapped her hands at him to get him to move, shoved open the door and waltzed right past him to hold it open for him. Bucky mumbled his thanks as he passed.

He slid into his chair, placing his tray on the desk as he did so. Natasha chose to perch on the back of a chair with her feet on the seat of it, her tray on her lap. She munched silently on her salad, while Bucky shoveled his tacos into his mouth as efficiently as possible. He tried very hard not to think about his last venture onto the dating scene. It had…not gone well, to say the least.

 “Have you met the new art teacher yet?” Natasha asked, after five minutes of quiet.

“I didn’t even know we were getting one until Saturday, so no,” Bucky said, poking his fork at the so-called Mexican rice that came with his tacos. It looked…vaguely edible. “Is she weird, like all the other art teachers we’ve ever had? Dreadlocks? Tattoos? Too many drapey necklaces?”

Natasha laughed, shaking her head. “Boy, are you in for a surprise.”

Bucky looked up from the rice, and raised an eyebrow. “Tell me.”

She shook her head, defiant. “No, no. You can find out on your own.” She wadded up her napkin, and shoved it into the empty salad container.

Bucky made a face at her. “Tasha…”

Natasha shook her head again, and stood to dump the flimsy paper tray into his trash. She wiped her hands on her thighs, and stood ominously next to his desk. “You’ll figure it out, James.” She smiled briefly, and then turned to leave. “My next class starts soon.”

“Good luck,” he said, waving at her as she slipped out of the door. Once she was gone, he tried a bite of the rice. He regretted it. It tasted like cardboard, but with spice. Spicy cardboard. Without ceremony, Bucky flipped the rest of his lunch into the trash.

 


	3. mr. barnes has a crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> surprise, you get an extra chapter this week bc I feel like it! follow me on tumblr!

An hour later, the bell rang for his next class, and all thoughts of art teachers and why they were interesting fled from Bucky’s head. It was the last period of the day, and it was obvious in the way the students slowly meandered into the room. They looked dejected, ready to fall down face first onto the carpet. Even if all you did on the first day was introduce yourself and get to know the teacher, it was exhausting after a summer of doing nothing. He took pity on them.

“Okay, after I do my little spiel here, you guys can talk amongst yourselves, alright?” Bucky said, with a smile. He stood up, and gave his arm talk quicker than he’d ever done it before. It left the students looking a little befuddled, but whatever. They got the gist of it, he thought. A few actually looked like they wanted to ask something, but didn’t raise their hands.

“Next class, I ask that you all bring an empty wide-ruled notebook and a writing utensil. Can be a pen, pencil, marker, crayon, I don’t care, but you will take notes in this class. It’s required,” Bucky added, waving his arm around as he spoke. “Alright?” He waited until he saw some nods in his rather captive audience. “Good. Now, go ahead and talk for the rest of the period.”

The noise level rocketed up, just as he suspected it would. He walked around the classroom, asking some students their names, what they liked, where they were from, just small questions to get to know them while he had them in his room. He spoke with a Kate, and an Elliot, and a Hugh. A few students seemed rather shy. He did his best to leave them alone. No need to embarrass them beyond measure on the first day.

Bucky ended up by the window towards the end of class, glancing out of it every so often to watch the luckier students leave for the day. One student skipped out of the building, laughing, as her friends followed at slightly more sedate pace. A blonde man burst out of the building behind them, waving a handbag at one of them. He was wearing a rather ugly plaid button down shirt and khaki pants. Pants that fit him very, very well.

“Holy shit.” Bucky found himself saying before he could censor himself appropriately.

The man had turned, revealing wide shoulders and a brilliant white smile as he handed the purse to one of the students. He looked to be about Bucky’s age, maybe a little younger. From what he could see, whoever this guy was, he was, as Sam would put it, _fine as hell_. Fair skin, probably with freckles if his hair was any indication. And last, but not certainly not least, he was built like a brick shit house. He towered over the students before him, in a friendly giant sort of way.

And he was absolutely 100% Bucky’s type.

Oh no. That had to be the new art teacher. Fucking Natasha. This is what she meant, wasn’t it? So much for dreadlocks, too many tattoos and dangly necklaces. This guy looked as clean cut as they come. Hell, he was wearing  _khakis_ of all things.

“Mr. Barnes?” One of the students near him asked, eyes wide. Shit, they’d heard him, hadn’t they?

“What are you looking at?” A boy asked, leaning out of his seat to peek.

“What? Nothing,” Bucky mumbled, turning away from the window quickly as possible. He felt himself turn red in the cheeks. Goddammit. This was absolutely the last thing he needed his students to pick up on. It usually took even the extra perceptive ones at least until the third month in to realize he was gay. It wasn’t like he flaunted it around, or, you know….told anyone. Other than his friends, anyway.

Another student stood up and looked out the window. “He was looking out the window and Mr. Rogers is out there…”

“Do you have a crush on Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes?”

“He does! Look, he’s blushing!” A girl pointed at him, grinning widely.

Shit, shit, shit.

“I’m not blushing!” Bucky said, scurrying back to his desk and plopping himself in front of his computer. He opened his email and stared at it, blankly. It would hide the color of his cheeks, he hoped. “Do your work, please.”

“We don’t have any work. It’s the first day.”

Well, fuck him, they were right. “Do you want work?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at the students before him. “I can come up with work for you, if you want…” A threat he actually couldn’t deliver on, but they didn’t need to know that. They quickly all sat back down and turned away from him, leaving him to try and self-combust quietly by himself. After a moment, he pulled his phone out of his drawer and typed a quick message to Natasha.

                   Oh. My. God.

Bucky hit send, and quickly glanced up to check on his kids. They were all still talking to each other, ignoring him as hard as they could. Good. A beat, and his phone vibrated in his hand.

                   oh, so you met him?

He wanted to reach through the phone and strangle her. Instead, he typed:

                   No, just saw him through the window.

                   I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.

Natasha sent the shrugging girl emoji. He typed, and hit send quickly.

                   You’re the literal worst.

There was a slightly longer pause, and then Natasha replied.

                   i’m teaching, leave me alone.

Bucky sent her the middle finger emoji, and dropped his phone back into the drawer. A quick look at the clock hanging above his door told him the bell would ring any second now. Finally.

“Hey — remember a notebook and pen for next time, okay? If you come without, you’ll regret it!” Bucky said, just as the bell shrilly announced the day was over. A few kids nodded, but most were intent on getting out the door as quickly as possible. He didn’t blame them, he kind of wanted to vanish from his classroom, too.

Instead, he took a deep breath, and surveyed over the room as they all filed out. There was the multitude of trash all over his floor again, but the custodians would take care of that after he left. The desks were slightly out of arrangement, as they usually were after the last bell rang. They’d get even more messed up tomorrow after the first day for B day classes.

The school schedule had confused the hell out of him the first year he’d worked there. It was A and B day scheduling, with one day of 4 specific classes, and another with 4 different classes. Each week started with alternating days. Today had been an A day, and tomorrow would be B. Bucky scrunched his face up as he looked at his schedule for the next day. A full day of classes, no break period.

That would be fun.

Not.

He heaved out a sigh, and glanced at the clock on his computer.  4:15. He’d better wait at least another half hour before leaving, just in case any student had questions for him. Bucky fiddled around on his computer, checking his emails for the umpteenth time that day, looking over his lesson plan for Wednesday, and generally trying very hard not to think about Mr. Rogers the incredibly good-looking art teacher. Which meant, of course, that he was doing little else.

Bucky didn’t even know his first name.

Shit.

He pulled out his phone again and texted Natasha once more.

                   What’s his name?

She must have been done with her students, because the text came back almost instantaneously. It was the eye roll emoji, and then:

                   steven rogers.

                   creeper.

Steven Rogers. He probably went by Steve, though, right? Going by Steven would just be weird. Steve. Steeeeve. Bucky resisted the urge to say his name out loud, just in case someone happened to be walking by. That was all he needed after getting caught ogling the man earlier. No doubt that’d run its way though the rumor circuit faster than light itself. He brushed that thought aside for the moment.

Okay. Alright. He had a name, now. A full name, even.

He could work with that.

Bucky nodded to himself a few times. Now, how the hell was he supposed to introduce himself?


	4. well hello there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here’s your regularly scheduled chapter.

It turned out he shouldn’t have worried. As he turned his beat up Toyota into the parking lot the next morning, a brilliant red pickup pulled into the spot next to him. A quick glance over revealed a one Mr. Rogers sitting in the driver’s seat, wearing Ray Ban sunglasses, and twisting his wrist to turn his car off. Bucky found himself staring.

He’d wanted a chance to introduce himself, right? Well…here it was. Slowly ticking away while he ogled. Again.

As he watched, Steve unfolded himself from the front seat, grabbing at a messenger bag in the seat next to him. _Jesus_ , look at his arms. Even covered up in plaid ( _again_?), Bucky could tell they were as big. They were straining the slightly better plaid patterned fabric. Did this guy only wear plaid shirts? Did he buy them in bulk?

Bucky took this chance to close his eyes, take a deep breath, and force himself out of his car. He could do this. He could talk to another human being without tripping over himself or drooling or something equally embarrassing. He shoved his keys into the pocket of his jacket, grabbed for his coffee cup, and shut the door with a swing of his hip.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, going for nonchalant as possible.

“Oh!” Steve said, perking up at the sight of Bucky, or at least, that’s what Bucky  _hoped_ caused his sudden enthusiasm. Steve bounded around his car to stand next to Bucky. A gorgeous smile flashed in his direction, and  _holy shit_. If Steve had been attractive through a window and a hundred yards away, he was  _devastating_ up close. Bucky wanted to stare at him forever. “Hi! I’m Steve Rogers, the new art teacher.” Steve added, shuffling his things around so he could hold his hand out to Bucky for a handshake.

Bucky frowned slightly, and then turned around to set his coffee cup on the hood of his car. He then reached out and took Steve’s hand, shaking it gently. It was warm, and slightly dotted in various shades of blue paint. “Nice to meet you, Steve! Bucky Barnes, American history teacher,” He said, with a smile, making sure to look Steve in the eye. Then he let go, and grabbed his cup again. “Sorry, I…um…only the one arm, see?”

Steve’s face went white as a sheet as Bucky’s words reached him. “Oh no! Oh god, I’m sorry! I didn’t know!” He flipped up his sunglasses so they sat on the top of his head, revealing startling blue eyes. Like…bluer than the sky behind him. Whose eyes were that blue? God. Steve blinked at him, and begged, “Please forgive me?”

Bucky forced himself to react to the situation, instead of losing himself in Steve’s eyes, which would have been easier than breathing. “Already forgiven. It’s okay, really. Don’t worry about it!” He said, shaking his head, and smiling like a loon. “Like you said, you didn’t know!”

“I still feel horrible!” Steve sighed. His shoulders folded in, like he was trying to make himself smaller. “What a first impression to make.”

“Welllll…” Bucky started, flashing a grin at him, and nudging him with his elbow. “It’s actually nice that you noticed me and not my lack of an arm first? So…go you?”

That seemed to do the trick. Steve smiled slowly at him, and then seemed to inflate back up to his normal, enormous size. What did this guy eat? Whole cows? Bucky wasn’t exactly tiny, and they were about the same height, but Steve would envelope him completely if they were to hug, which…Bucky wouldn’t complain about. But he’d just met the guy, so he was 100% not fantasizing about getting hugged by him. Nope. Was not.

“You promise?” Steve said, earnest. He shifted his messenger bag so it was more solidly on his shoulder. Bucky could see paintbrushes and sharpies shoved into a side pocket.

Bucky laughed, and nodded. “Yes, I promise it’s fine. Please don’t worry about it.”

“Alright, but if you harbor a secret grudge against me I’ll be upset…” Steve murmured, with a slight laugh. He started to walk towards the school building, looking over his shoulder to make sure Bucky was following.

“No grudges will be held,” Bucky promised, laughing again. He toddled after Steve, jogging to catch up to him. They reached the building together, with Steve holding the first set of doors open for him. Bucky grinned at him, and hurried through. Steve quickly moved ahead, and opened the second set of doors, smiling as Bucky walked past. Then, they were in the main thruway of the school, moving slowly towards the hallway where Bucky would have to peel off to get to his classroom.

“Do you…um…would you…when’s your lunch today?” Steve asked, blinking at him under the bright fluorescent lights. He continued, mumbling, “I don’t know anyone yet. And eating in my classroom is…boring, and probably not sanitary? I mean, art supplies aren’t usually nontoxic. I guess I could eat in the staff room but….”

“The staff room is a hellhole from which you will never recover?” Bucky offered, knowing that he looked more hopeful than he really wanted to. Why was he finding this bout of verbal vomit so charming?

“Exactly,” Steve answered, laughing.

Bucky couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. “I think I have third lunch today? I’d have to double check…” He really would — he couldn’t remember the details of his incredibly busy schedule. Today was going to suck. A full day with no break period. He was going to hurt later.

Steve immediately brightened. “Really? That’s mine, too! Would you mind eating with me?”

Uh hell no, Bucky wouldn’t mind. He had to tamp down his first reaction, which was to shout YES, YES, I’LL EAT LUNCH WITH YOU!! at the top of his lungs. Instead, he settled for nodding, and saying, “Sure! Um, what classroom did you get stuck with? They rearranged everything on me…” They were getting close to his hallway now. His stomach sunk at the thought of having to leave.

“I’m by the gym? They knocked down a wall between two rooms, so I have a giant one now. It’s G105. But you don’t have to come get me, I can meet you at your room or the cafeteria or something. Do you bring or buy lunch?”

“I usually bring, but I haven’t had a chance to get the store, so I’m stuck buying…” Bucky answered, with a shrug. “I’m down this hallway,” He said, gesturing with his coffee. “Room B109.”

“Okay,” Steve nodded. “I’ll come by at 1:40, then!”

“It’s a date,” Bucky said, and then immediately turned bright red.

Shit.

Fuck.

It’s a date???? What was wrong with his brain? Just because  _he_ wanted to date Steve, didn’t mean Steve wanted to date him. And, and, and  _did_ he want to date Steve? He knew almost nothing about the man! What if he strangled kittens as a pastime, or smoked, or ate only hot dogs? He needed more information before he even _thought_ about dating. Plus, Steve was probably straight as hell. Look at him. Too many muscles! A face that would make angels weep! Khakis! Plaid! What gay man dressed like that? (Though Bucky didn’t have any room to talk — his wardrobe mostly consisted of greys and blacks and comfy fabrics. Not exactly the height of fashion.) And… _and,_ they’d only just met. Who _talked_ like this? What was his problem?!

“A date, then,” Steve answered, his smile impossibly wider. He waved, and kept walking down the hallway to his own classroom, leaving Bucky gaping after him.

Bucky sucked in a breath through his teeth, raising his eyebrows. What had just happened? He blinked at the empty hallway, and after a moment, slowly made his way towards his classroom. He held his coffee cup between his teeth and fished around his pockets for his keys. Once he found them, he shoved the right one in the lock, twisted it, and let himself into the room. A quick flip of the wrist turned the lights on, revealing empty desks.

He placed his coffee on his own desk, and plopped down into his chair, letting the motion spin him slightly.  There were — he glanced at the clock — thirty minutes until the kids showed up. That meant he had half an hour to freak out before anyone noticed.

First things first — ‘it’s a date’ was just an expression, right? Like, they weren’t having an actual lunch date. It was just a saying, and they were just eating lunch together so a grown man wouldn’t be lonely in his toxic art room. Bucky took a breath, nodding to himself. That made sense. It was an explanation that wouldn’t send him spiraling downwards into self-pity.

Bucky grabbed for his coffee and took a gigantic swallow of it. Okay. This was okay. He could eat lunch with the man without pouring himself into his lap. Yep. He could do this.

 


	5. that’s sad, mr. barnes

He could not do this.

It was second period, and the kids in this class were already well on their way towards giving him a migraine. He’d been asked approximately thirteen times how he’d lost his arm, what they’d done with it, and if he killed the guy who shot him. The thing was — Bucky had given them the exact same speech he’d given every other class. The information had been supplied, it just…hadn’t sunk in, he supposed. Either that, or they were ignoring him as much as they possibly could. And no matter how many times he was asked, there was no way in hell he’d ever tell them the fate of the guy who’d shot him.

Bucky hadn’t killed him. Someone else in his unit had. He’d been too busy bleeding out to do anything other than collapse.

But!

He wasn’t thinking about that today. Or he was doing his best not to think about it. Instead, Bucky was trying very hard not to lose his cool with the students in front of him. They were talking to each other with his permission, but they were now at a volume previously unheard of outside sport stadiums. He pushed his fingers on either side of his nose, hoping the pressure would relieve something. It didn’t.

“ALRIGHT!” He said, loudly as possible without resorting to full out shouting. “Enough. You all need to quiet down. It’s the second day of school, give it a break.”

The class went silent, after a beat.

“If you don’t quiet down, and talk at a normal inside voice level, I will find work for you to do, even it’s just copying definitions out of a dictionary,” Bucky threatened, glaring at a random kid. She blanched, and nodded.

A hand raised — it was connected to a big black boy, who looked eager for something. “What?” Bucky asked, jutting his chin in the kid’s direction.

“Sir, you said we could talk…are we not allowed to anymore?” He asked, blinking at him. Like he hadn’t just been shouting over football with his two henchmen-like buddies.

Bucky huffed out a sigh. “You can talk, just…not so loud, alright? We aren’t the only class in this building.” He waved his hand at the class, letting them know they were free to go about their business. He returned to pressing his fingers against his face. He needed coffee, or Advil or a nap. He’d finished his first cup an hour ago, and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d be able to run to the staff room for another anytime soon. Bucky wasn’t leaving this class by themselves for a second. They’d burn the place down the moment he turned his back.

If this continued, he’d be a grumpy mess by the time lunch came around. Not exactly the impression he wanted to make on Steve. Or anyone. Why oh _why_ did ‘the bad class’ have to be on the day he didn’t have any breaks? There was always a bad class. Always. But why did his have to be _today_?

Bucky opened his desk drawer, and with his hand still inside it, shot a group text off to both Natasha and Sam.

                   Do either of you have a break today?

                   And if so, can you please come kill me and/or bring me coffee?

He let his phone drop back down to the bottom of the drawer, waiting for the reply. It came a moment later, his phone buzzing against the metal bottom of the drawer loudly. Bucky snatched it up, glanced up at his students, and then quickly at the screen. It was from Natasha.

                   i’ll bring you coffee.

                   two cream, two splenda, right?

Bucky answered in the affirmative, and closed the drawer on his phone. No need to let this class see him text. They’d walk all over him the rest of the semester with their own texting habits. He peeked at the clock, and groaned. There were still twenty minutes left in this class. Twenty whole minutes. Thankfully, it seemed his class was taking him seriously. They had quieted down considerably.

He twisted his chair around so he was facing his computer, and clicked around the screen a few times. Just enough to make it look like he was doing something important. He was in the middle of scrolling through the BBC News front page when the door to his classroom opened. The class went silent — just in case it was someone important, like the principal. Natasha waltzed in, sparing no glance for the students. Today, she was wearing bright green dance pants. The shirt thrown over the black leotard was purple, with a white arrow jutting across it. One of Clint’s, then. Natasha walked straight to his desk, deposited a mug, grinned at him, and then turned around and left.

“Thanks,” Bucky called, before the door shut behind her. He curled his hand around the mug, noticing she chose to bring him one covered in ballet slippers. Figured. Whatever, it was coffee he desperately needed.

“Mr. Barnes, are you dating Coach Romanova?” A girl asked, breaking the quiet of the room.

Bucky choked, sputtering on the hot coffee that was in his mouth. His eyes watered, leaving him blinking like mad to clear them. “No,” He started, clearing his throat over and over. He took another sip of the coffee, and let it run down his throat. “No, she’s married.” Bucky said, once he could speak again. And before someone could ask, he added, “To someone other than me.”

“She’s married!?”

“To who?” Another asked, in disbelief.

Bucky sipped at his coffee, nodding. “She’s married alright, but I’m not telling you to who. You can ask her yourself.” It was a closely guarded secret within the school. All the teachers knew, but absolutely none of the students did. It drove them all mad.

“Uh, hell no.” A blonde girl in the front said, shaking her head like man. “She’d eat me.”

Bucky snorted, and mentally made a note to tell Natasha later. She’d be pleased her reputation preceded her. Though, the girl wasn’t entirely wrong. Natasha hated talking about her personal life, even to her friends. He couldn’t imagine how she’d react to a student asking her about herself.

“Are  _you_ married, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, and over the rim of his coffee cup, shook his head. “Nope.” He knew what was coming next, and only slightly dreaded it. Maybe he could get by without them figuring him out.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” There it was.

“Nope.” He took another sip of coffee, waiting for the next question.

“A boyfriend?” Just as he suspected.

“Nope.”

“Wow, that’s sad, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky snorted again. “Gee thanks, kid.” Privately, he agreed with the guy, but there wasn’t any chance in hell he’d say that out loud. Plus, he had a prospect. A possibly straight devastatingly handsome prospect, but a prospect nonetheless. Speaking of which…he peered at the clock again. Two minutes til the bell, thank god.

“Notebook and pen next class, please! Do _not_ forget, or we will have words…” Bucky stated, rather ominously. The bell rang just as he finished speaking, which was what he was aiming for. The students all but ran out of the room, shouting and joking with one another as they headed for their next class. Bucky sat in his chair, mug in hand, and hoped the next hour went by smoother than the last.

Third period started exactly seven minutes later. His classroom was quiet, leaving Bucky pleasantly surprised behind his desk. His spiel had gone smoothly, and now they were going around the room introducing themselves. Unfortunately, he was only half-listening, as 90% of his attention was on the clock over the door. This period was broken in two with lunch in the middle. They’d start class, go to lunch, and then come back to the same class. Not Bucky’s favorite lunch period of the four possibilities, but whatever. It seemed this group of kids was going to be better behaved than the last, so maybe it wouldn’t be hell on Earth all semester.

He had five whole minutes until Steve Rogers would show up at his door so they could eat lunch together. Bucky ran his hand through his hair, tousling it so it looked a little better than it had. He straightened his shirt as best he could, and then fiddled with his tie. It was a shiny black one today, over his solid steel blue button down. Not his best look, but definitely not the worst combination he’d ever worn to school.

The bell rang shrilly, dismissing the students to lunch. Bucky hurried to the door to open for it for them, standing to the side so they could pass. They’d all be back by 2:20 ish for the remainder of their class. Bucky wasn’t sure what they’d do for the rest of the time, but he’d figure out something. Probably just let them talk to each other, again. The first day of classes always sucked. By the time he was done introducing himself, and meeting the kids, there wasn’t enough time to do a proper lecture. It meant they just wasted time until their next class, but whatever. Tomorrow would be better.


	6. a lunch date

A large form blocked out the light from the hallway, and Bucky looked up to see Steve grinning at him from inside the door. Bucky couldn’t help but smile back. He had paint over one eyebrow.

“Hi,” Steve said, a bit lamely.

“Hi,” Bucky replied, with a wave.

“Ready?” Steve asked, taking a step into the classroom. His eyes went wide for a moment, noticing all of Bucky’s things. Bucky watched as he moved from poster to poster, and then to bookcase to bookcase. “I can tell you really like your job,” Steve offered, with a smile. He gestured to the small toy soldier, and then to a replica of the first American flag. “Not everyone decorates their rooms quite this much.”

Bucky shrugged. “Things make history seem more real. Otherwise, it’s just a story to these kids.”

Steve looked at him for a moment, seemingly taking him in. Bucky resisted the urge to duck and hide, or turn twenty shades of red. “You’re one of the real ones, aren’t you?”

Bucky gave him a confused look.

Steve waved a hand, and tried again. “You really care about them. That they actually learn and not just memorize, right?”

Bucky nodded slowly. “That’s my job, isn’t it?”

Steve beamed at him. “Yeah, but not everyone does it the way you seem to.”

Bucky bowed his head, and smiled, mostly at the carpet below his feet. “Thanks,” He murmured, feeling his cheeks go a little pink. He took a breath. “Let’s go or all the good stuff will be gone,” He said, trying very hard to get the subject off of himself. He hated talking about himself, and being complimented was even worse. Though it was nice that _someone_ noticed how much effort he put into this job. The kids never seemed to care, but Steve had seen it as soon as he walked in. It reaffirmed that he was doing the right thing with his life.

They headed out of the room, Bucky lagging a bit to lock the door behind him. He didn’t like leaving it unlocked when no one was around. Just in case. Hopefully none of the kids would show up before him after lunch ended.

“So,” Steve said, as they walked down the hallway. “How long have you been teaching?”

Oh yeah. He was going to  _have_ to talk about himself. Great. Bucky scrunched his nose up, and then answered, “Five years, going on six. Yourself?”

“This is only my second year teaching, actually.” He seemed almost embarrassed by his answer.

Bucky raised his eyebrows, a little surprised. “Yeah?”

Steve nodded, a small smile playing about his mouth. “Yep. I, um, got into college late due to illness, and then I wasn’t a huge fan of the first school to hire me.” He paused, to take a deep breath, and then continued, “It was a private institution with more money then sense.”

“So you left and went public?” Bucky guessed.

“Mhm,” Steve hummed in affirmation. “I was shocked this district even wanted to give me a chance. They got rid of the program two years ago, right? So…why’d they bring it back?”

Bucky shrugged. “Honestly? No idea. Sam — the physics teacher — said something about how they got a big donation from someone who wanted to bring the program back. Other than that, no clue.”

“Huh,” Steve said, making a face. They turned the corner, and hit the main hallway of the building. There were still some students meandering back towards the cafeteria, talking about whatever classes they’d just got out of. Bucky caught his own name a few times, but didn’t hear what they were saying about him. Hopefully something good.

“Have you met everyone yet?” Bucky asked, after a minute or two of silence. They were just outside the cafeteria doors. He pushed it open, and held it so Steve could pass.

“Definitely not. I’ve met a few people, but most teachers don’t come near the gym,” Steve answered, walking through with a smile. Bucky could honestly say he didn’t approach the gym unless he was looking for Clint or Natasha, or if there was an assembly of some sort scheduled. The gym smelled like sweaty teenagers and unwashed feet. Not something he needed to subject himself to unnecessarily.

“Well, I can introduce you to my friends, if you like?” Bucky offered, with a shrug. He hoped Natasha would behave like a normal human being.

“I’d like that,” Steve replied, heading towards the American line at the back of the room. Bucky followed, after getting a look at the so-called meatloaf that was in the random line. He wasn’t going anywhere near that. “Two burgers, fries, those peaches,  and a brownie please,” Steve said to the lunch lady behind the counter. He smiled sweetly at her, and she, as far as Bucky could tell, melted into her shoes. She piled Steve’s order onto a paper tray, and slid it down the line so the next lady could add his drink and take his payment.

“Uh, one cheeseburger, fries, and a cookie, please,” Bucky ordered, once the lady recollected herself after Steve. He grinned at her knowingly, and she flushed pink. She piled the items on a tray for him, and slid it down the line once more. He paid the other lady, and met up with Steve at the condiment bar. “Want to eat in here or back in my room? I don’t mind either way,” Bucky asked, carefully squirting ketchup on the top of his burger.

Bucky watched as Steve drew a smiley face on the top of both of his burgers with ketchup, and then made a small puddle of it in one corner of his tray. Steve looked up, and cast his baby blues in Bucky’s direction. “It’s probably quieter in your room, so maybe there?” he said, gathering his tray up and waiting.

“Okay,” Bucky said, and nodded towards the doors. “After you, then.”

After some struggling with the door lock, they were safely back inside his classroom. Steve had squashed himself into one of the kid’s desks, eating carefully over his tray as to not spill anything. Bucky was nibbling at his fries — they were surprisingly good — when Steve spoke up again. He sounded embarrassed almost immediately.

“So…um…can I ask…” He started, and then turned red. “How did you…um?” Steve gestured towards his own left arm. “Sorry if you don’t want to tell me. You don’t have to!”

Absolutely no one had the right to be that charming while stumbling over their words. Bucky giggled at him — actually giggled! — before replying. “You can ask, it’s alright. It’s not a secret, almost all the kids know, because it’s the first thing I tell them to get out of the way,” He said, shoving a french fry into his mouth and chewed. Once he swallowed, he finished, “I was deployed in Iraq. Caught a bullet in a way they weren’t able to save the arm.”

“You served?” Steve said, dumbly. “…I always wanted to. Wasn’t ever healthy enough.  What unit were you in?”

Bucky couldn’t imagine a more healthy person than the one sitting in front of him, but the way Steve spoke made it sound like it was a relatively recent development. If they managed to become friends, he’d ask about it later. He took a bite of burger before answering, “Yeah, um. The 107th.”

Steve looked up suddenly, eyes wide. “The 107th?” He parroted, looking eager. “Oh my god,” He said, blinking. He dropped his burger back on the tray, looking a little shell shocked.

“What?’ Bucky asked, confused. He placed his bottled water between his legs and gripped it with his thighs so he could twist the lid off. He dropped the lid on the tray, and then took a sip of the water. It was lukewarm.

“My dad served in the 107th,” Steve answered, leaning against the plastic back of the chair. After a moment, he looked up and stared at Bucky. “What are the odds?”

It was Bucky’s turn to be surprised. His eyebrows shot up, threatening to reach his hairline. “That’s…wow.” He put his water back on his desk, and glanced up at Steve, who was now staring intensely at the carpet. “Is he still in the army?”

He shook his head, still lost in whatever he was looking at on the ground. Bucky suspected he wasn’t really seeing the ugly shade of maroon, but something else. “No, he died,” Steve said, simply, after a moment. “In the service. I was two.”

Bucky’s heart sunk. That meant that Steve didn’t remember his dad. There was no way he did. “I’m sorry, Steve,” He said, meaning it. He still had both his parents, though they lived two states and a timezone away. His mom called at least once a week to berate him about not giving her grandchildren, and, you know, to check on him. Bucky both dreaded and enjoyed the phone calls.

Steve waved his sympathy away, and seemed to come back into himself. He picked his burger back up, and took a bite before speaking. “It was a long time ago. I’m sorry about your arm. Was it hard to get used to?”

“To be honest…” Bucky started, with a frown. He paused, and cleared his throat. He really didn’t want to talk about it right now. There was only five minutes left of lunch and he’d much rather talk about something a little less totally depressing.  “Do you mind if I tell you another time? It’s not exactly a happy subject…”

Steve blinked at him, and then looked slightly abashed. “No, no, of course! I’m sorry for prying.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, you really aren’t, I promise.” He finished up his burger, and chomped through his last two fries. He placed his chocolate chip cookie on a napkin, and laid it on his desk under his hula lamp. He’d eat it later when the mid-afternoon doldrums came into effect.

“I’m still sorry,” Steve replied, with a soft smile.

Bucky smiled back, and realized after a moment he was staring. Again. Why’d he have to be so obvious all the time? And why did Steve have to be so goddamn attractive? “You’ve got a bit of paint just there,” he said, to cover up for his unabashed gawking. He gestured to the smear of blue above Steve’s left eyebrow.

Steve reached a hand up to feel where Bucky indicated, and then shrugged. “I’m covered in the stuff. What’s a little more?”

Bucky laughed. “Why do you even have paint on you? Aren’t you just doing the normal first day crap like everyone else?”

“Nah — I put out paint and stuff and have everyone create something for the first day. I use it to sort of get to know them,” Steve answered, blinking. He folded up his paper tray, and somehow managed to contort himself enough to get out of the desk he’d sat at. He dropped the tray into Bucky’s trash and then stretched up towards the ceiling with his long arms. “I guess I’d better get back to my room…” He said, sounding almost disappointed. Bucky’s heart thumped loudly in his chest.

“Yeah, the bell is about to ring,” Bucky mumbled, eyes flicking up to the clock. Any minute now, and kids would be thundering back to their classrooms. Better to get back before the hallways were all but impassable. But still. He’d much rather keep talking to Steve for the rest of the afternoon.

“Thank you for eating with me,” Steve said, as he moved towards the door.

“Anytime,” Bucky replied, meaning every syllable.

“I’ll take you up on that,” Steve said, throwing a grin over his shoulder. He left then, leaving Bucky staring at the door slowly closing behind him.

He was so, so in trouble.

 


	7. caught by the spider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a very short one today, i'm very sorry!

"So," Natasha said, a few hours later. The final bell had rung exactly six minutes before, dismissing the students for the day. She was leaning over his desk, with both her hands flat against the wood. Bucky leaned away from her, pushing his chair backwards so it wheeled towards the wall behind him.

"So?" He asked, trying very hard not to show fear. Natasha might be his friend, but she was also rather like a deadly predator. Show any fear or urge to run...and she'd pounce and shake him between her teeth until she got what she wanted. Bucky ran his hand through his hair, a nervous tick he'd had since always.

"So," Natasha started again, with a shark-like grin. "I heard you ate lunch with Mr. Rogers."

"How could you _possibly_ know that?" Bucky spluttered. "And why do you _care_?"

She moved away to perch on the top of a student desk. Crossing her legs, she leaned backward onto her palms. "I have my ways."

"Clint was in the lunchroom, wasn't he?" He had to have been, because Bucky would have seen Natasha's hair a mile away. That, and if she'd had lunch at the same time, she would have demanded he eat with her. So, it had to have been Clint. Deductive reasoning, yay.

Natasha flicked a hand at him. "Maybe," She said, and then a moment later, "And I care because you've been single for far too long, and Steve is your type. Basically tailor-made for you."

Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes. "He's straight."

"How do you know?"

"He wears khakis, Tasha. _Khakis_."

"That doesn't mean he's straight. That means he doesn't know how to dress himself." She pointed out, looking proud of herself.

"Yeah, well, even if by some miracle he  _isn't_ straight, there's no way he'd ever want to date me." Bucky said, with a sigh. He stood from his chair, and started gathering the things he needed to take home for the night. Cellphone. Coffee cup. List of students. They all went into his bag, which then went over his head and onto his shoulder. Bucky rolled his other shoulder, stretching it slightly. His arm was starting to ache, a dull burn that ran through the remnant of bone. The heating pad was in his future.

"James Barnes, you are a catch. Don't talk about yourself like that," Natasha ordered, hopping off her desk and moving so she could poke him in the chest. Bucky looked down at her, and raised an eyebrow.

"Natasha Romanova, I'm a thirty-three year old history teacher with one arm, and more emotional baggage than I can carry. Who the hell would want to date me?" Bucky asked, brushing past her to turn the lights to the classroom off. There'd still be enough light coming through the windows to see by.

Natasha scoffed. "Anyone with sense?"

Bucky rolled his eyes for the billionth time that day. He shifted the bag on his shoulder. It was really starting to hurt. "Yeah, alright. I'll get right on asking him out, okay? Right after pigs sprout wings, and hell freezes over."

She bristled. "You should. He'd probably say yes."

Bucky whirled around, and it was his turn to poke a finger in her direction. "Drop it. You don't know him from Adam, and I only just talked to him for the first time today. He could be a total weirdo, and neither of us would know." This was just like Natasha. She'd poke and prod him until he exploded at her, frustrated with her lack of decorum and ability to read his emotions.

And really, what was with her insistence on the subject? What did she know that he didn't?

"He's not a weirdo, James."

"Who's not a weirdo?" Clint asked, poking his head in from the hallway. The rest of him followed a moment later, coming in to stand next to his wife. He still had on his athletic gear -- track pants and a t-shirt emblazoned with the school logo on it. A baseball hat was pulled low over his eyes, blonde hair sticking out around his ears. A whistle swung from a lanyard around his neck.

"No -- " Bucky started.

"Steve," Natasha interrupted, with a feral grin. "The new art teacher."

"How long have you been out there?" Bucky asked, choosing to ignore Natasha entirely.

Clint glanced at his watch, and then shrugged. "Not long." He slipped an arm around Natasha's waist, and pulled her close to him. She allowed it. Clint was the only one who got away with touching her without express permission. Probably because, you know, they were married and all. He hooked his chin on her shoulder, and looked at Bucky over it. "You should ask him out. He's hot."

"He's straight!" Bucky exclaimed, throwing his arm up out of frustration.

"Dude, no way," Clint said, making a face. "He's an _art teacher_."

Bucky let out a heavy sigh, and slapped a hand over his eyes. All he needed now was for Sam to appear and suggest he talk up the art teacher. He peeked out from between his fingers to stare at the doorway. Thankfully, the physics teacher didn't magically appear. Now, all he had to do was to get rid of these two so he could actually go home.

But then, he remembered there was literally no food at home. Bucky's fridge held a bottle of ketchup, some eggs of indeterminate age, and a loaf of probably moldy bread. He'd have to stop by the store, or grab dinner on his way home if he wanted to eat anything tonight.

"Alright _well_ , as fun as this conversation has been, I want to leave," Bucky said, waving everyone out of his room. "My arm hurts. Good bye. See you tomorrow."

"Fine, but the subject isn't dropped," Natasha murmured, waltzing out of the room, towing Clint behind her by a hand.

"We'll see about that!" Bucky called after her, fishing his keys out from the side pocket of his bag. He locked the door behind him, and hurried his way towards his car. He'd had enough of being at school for the day. All he really wanted was to lay on his couch with his heating pad over his entire left side and watch TV until his eyes closed of their own accord. Instead, the grocery store, or a drive-thru was in his future. Most likely the drive-thru if he was being honest with himself. The store would take too much energy, and he was already basically dead on his feet.

By the time he got to his parking spot, the red truck parked next to him had gone. Bucky didn't bother to hide his disappointment.


	8. a nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just thought I'd give you all a nice little surprise chapter this week. It isn't the happiest thing in the world, but it does move the story forward. I also wanted to let you all know this is now up to 28,505 words in my word document!

Bucky kicked the apartment door closed behind him, dropping his Wendy's bag on the kitchen table, and his messenger bag on a chair. He twisted the deadbolt shut and locked himself in.

What a fucking day.

He'd made a fool of himself in front of Steve, and then they'd had a depressing conversation about missing limbs and dead fathers. Great first impression, Barnes. He made a face at himself, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling of his apartment. No way in hell Steve would ever want to talk to him again. Just watch, come Thursday, he'd have some excuse not to have lunch with him.

There went whatever minuscule chance he'd had.

Bucky turned, and stared out into his home. It was a small space -- the upper unit of a two-family house. His apartment was about eight hundred square feet of tiny, half-updated space. The single bedroom basically only held his bed leaving his dresser in the living room, shoved up against the wall with a lamp sitting on top. A ragged couch covered in a knit throw blanket, and an armchair that he'd picked out of the garbage down the street finished out the living space.

Most of Bucky's things were secondhand, or just plain cheaply made. He couldn't afford shit, and his apartment was evidence of that, but it was home.

It was also a mess.

There were dirty clothes thrown over his couch, wadded up tissues shoved in between the cushions of the armchair, and just...trash everywhere. Food wrappers, empty cups, old magazines. He was a bit embarrassed at how much had accumulated since the last time he'd cleaned.

Sighing heavily, he rotated and sat down at his kitchen table. Forget the mess. He'd deal with it come the weekend. Bucky pulled the Wendy's bag towards him, and dug out his dinner. It was barely warm, but it was food. He nibbled at it, exhaustion slowly creeping in. A burning ache was radiating from his arm, making it almost impossible to do anything other than acknowledge it. He rubbed at it between bites of chicken sandwich, knowing full well nothing would help it at this point except heat and pain killers.

Bucky wadded up the sandwich wrapper, and shoved it at the bottom of the bag. The fries slowly disappeared over the course of the next few minutes. He was barely conscious as he fed himself, thoughts drifting between pain and Steve and his students and Steve and Natasha and pain.

His phone bleeped, the screen lighting up with a new text message. A quick glance proved it came from Sam.

                   Hey man, how you holding up?

He typed a reply with a fry-greasy finger. He could lie, knowing full well Sam would see right through him, or he could tell him the truth. Probably easier to be honest with him, then.

                   Not great.

Another bleep from the phone.

                   You want to talk about it?

No, no he did not. Sam would be okay with that, but still. He felt bad for _not_ wanting to talk about it. All he really wanted was to lay back down and slowly fade into sleep while the TV flashed whatever trashy reality shows were on. Still, Bucky typed out a reply, feeling he owed it to his friend.

                   Nah. Just wanna sleep.

                   Bad arm day.

Bucky finished with his food, and shoved the rest of the trash into the bag. By the time he had thrown it away in his slightly-over-full bin, his phone was lighting up again.

                   Take it easy. Let me know if you need anything.

Bucky smiled, feeling slightly better about the interaction. That was Sam, caring as hard as he could without smothering you. And he knew, if he really did need something, Sam would drop just about anything to make sure he could help. He pocketed his phone, and padded towards his bedroom.

A few minutes later, Bucky left his room wearing nothing but a pair of lounge pants, the heating pad hooked over his shoulder with the plug trailing behind him. He'd left his prosthetic on his bed, still warm from his body heat. He flopped onto the couch, plugged in the heating pad, and slapped his hand around on the coffee table to locate the television remote. Once found, he turned the TV on, and flipped through the channels until he found a program that was appropriately trashy.

The sounds of the television quickly faded into the background, leaving his eyelids slowly drooping down until he was fully passed out on his couch. Bucky twitched, pleasant dreams of warm beaches and cool water shifting into something infinitely more horrible.

_The sun was beating down against the exposed skin of his face and neck. Sweat dripped down the middle of his back, pooling at the base of his spine. His uniform was built to let heat out, but the hot desert sun seemed to overexert it to the point of not working. His gun hung from the hook on his uniform, the metal hot in his palms._

_They were supposed to be accompanying someone important to base, but the whole operation was crawling along at a snail's pace._

_Dum-Dum was walking next to him, stomping his heavy boots into the desert sand. "Y'think they'll have actual food for us when we get there? I'm damn tired of this ready-to-eat bullshit they've been feedin' us this past week..." He said, after a half-hour of pure silence._

_"Dugan, y'know they won't have fuck-all," Bucky replied, barely looking to the side to respond. They were getting close to the section of the route that was considered highly dangerous. He didn't want to take his eyes off the horizon for a single moment._

_"I can always hope, can't I?"_

_"Hope all you want, you know we ain't gettin' shit," Bucky said, squinting at a sudden movement in the distance. It had shifted across the road, one side to the other quick as a blink. "You see that?"_

_"Yeah, twelve o'clock?"_

_Bucky looked sideways to met Dugan's eyes, and nodded._

_The desert seemed to still before them, even the dry wind ceased to blow. Another darting shadow moved across the path ahead of them. Bucky held up a fist, and flicked hand movements towards the other members of their unit. Everyone halted, and then shifted into new positions, guns held ready in front of them._

_They kept moving, but at a pace even slower than they'd been moving before. The movements had stilled, but something was definitely lurking ahead. Someone that had no good plans for them._

_Everything went to shit quickly after that._

_Gunfire exploded ahead of them, pinging off the vehicle they were escorting, and landed with a muffled piff into the sand by their feet. Bucky shouted to take cover, waving his hands over his head to get the attention of his unit. Most everyone darted behind the vehicle, peeking out to return fire when they could._

_Bucky turned to follow, one foot raised to take a step, when red-hot fire ripped through his left arm. A scream tore from his throat as he fell face first into the hot sand below. He'd been shot. There was nothing but the shredding pain radiating from his entire left side.  His entire world had zeroed down to that one point on his body, left arm four or five inches above his elbow. Had he been hit more than once? He couldn't tell, but his hand was beginning to feel numb._

_"SERGEANT!" Dugan shouted, big hands grabbing him under the arms and yanking him to safety. Bucky heard more gunfire, the sound of blood dripping onto the sand, and then nothing._

He woke suddenly, throat sore. He must have been screaming.

He hated that dream. He hated that memory.

He hated himself.

Bucky stood slowly, not trusting his balance at the moment. He padded towards his kitchen, floor frigid under his bare feet. A glass of water would help bring him to the present, if he could his hand to stop shaking enough that he could pour one. He tried once, dropped the plastic cup, and tried again, and again, and finally managed to pour two inches of water into the bottom. He drank, and then set the cup into the sink.

He wouldn't be able to go back to sleep tonight.


	9. a horrible no good day

Today was going to be a nightmare not unlike the one he’d had the night before.

Bucky had spent the night wrapped up in a blanket, part of it pulled up over his head like a hood. He’d watched shitty program after shitty program, willing the mountain of nonsense to bury the nightmare under it. His alarm had buzzed itself silly from inside his bedroom at exactly 6:30. It gave up after ten minutes of no one shutting it off. Bucky hadn’t moved, eyes glued to the early morning panel show that had come on after a rerun of Cheers.

The hosts were drinking wine of all things, at six in the morning. He stared at them, disgust evident on his face, before turning the TV off. Despite wanting to stay where he was, he couldn’t miss the third day of classes. His students were expecting him, and he would not disappoint them, or Principal Hill. He’d show up, even if all he did was put on an educational video about the colonization of America.

With a groan, Bucky pulled himself off his divot on the couch, and marched himself towards his shower. Hot water would help pull him out of this funk. And it had the added bonus of making him a little bit more presentable then he must be right now. A full night on the couch never ended with him looking his best.

A quick look in the mirror proved he was fit for nothing other than a trash heap. Or at least, that’s how he saw himself. His hair was a rat’s nest of tangles from a night awake on the couch. Deep purply-grey circles had appeared below his eyes, making him look gaunt and half dead. Wonderful.

Bucky pulled a face at his reflection, and threw himself into the steaming shower.

An hour and two mugs of coffee later, he was pulling into a parking spot at school. The red truck sat next to him, already parked and empty. Good, he thought. One less person to disappoint today.

The prosthetic was still laying on his bed, left behind due to the sheer amount of pain Bucky was in. The straps had rubbed his skin raw, leaving ugly red marks on his shoulders. Bruises would form sometime during the day, he was sure. Why he’d thought he could get away with two days wearing it full time when he hadn’t all summer was beyond him. That meant that today he was wearing a long sleeve shirt with the left sleeve pinned up to hide his stump.

“Mr. Barnes?” A bespeckled kid whispered after the first period start bell rang, “Are you okay?”

Bucky blinked, coming back to the present. His classroom was full of students. When had that happened? He looked back at the kid. “To be honest, Scott, I’m not doing so hot, but I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” He stood from his desk chair, and cleared his throat. He knew they could tell he was off, even after only one class with him. Though really, it wasn’t hard to tell. One look would give them all the information they needed.

All eyes were on him, waiting for him to say something. “Today, I’m going to have you watch a short video on colonization. There may or may not be a quiz following, so be sure you take notes.”

There was a very audible groan from the entire class. He made a face at them, and sat back down, twisting his chair to face his computer so he could start the video. He could hear the kids behind him pull out paper and pen. Good. At least some of them would actually comprehend the video. Now, where was that quiz he’d written last year? He clicked through his files, opening a few before finally finding the one he wanted.  Bucky would put it up on the screen after the video.

He glanced up at the class, before catching sight of movement through the small window in the door. Steve stood outside it, waving one large hand at him. Bucky blinked at him, and then ducked under the screen to cross the classroom and slip out into the hallway.

“Hi,” Steve said, with a wide grin. He held up a mug towards Bucky. “I brought you — are you okay?”

Shit.

“Uh,” Bucky started, rubbing one hand over his face. He was exhausted. Tired all the way down to his remaining bones, and it would only get worse the rest of the day. “Not really, no,” He admitted, and then added very quickly, “You brought me coffee?” A smile pulled at his lips.

Steve looked genuinely concerned before handing over the mug. “Yeah, Natasha said you always forget to…what’s wrong, Bucky?”

“You met Natasha?” Bucky said, surprised. Of course Natasha had introduced herself after Bucky had made his interest known. Of course she did. She’d probably talked him up, and made it stupidly obvious that he was attracted to Steve. He resisted the urge to groan out loud or bang his head on the wall, and instead wrapped his hand around the warm mug.

“And Clint, but…” Steve waved his words away, concern coloring his features. “Did something happen?”

Bucky scrunched his nose up. So Steve wasn’t going to drop it. Alright, fine. “Bad night,” He answered finally, gesturing to his left side with its very obvious missing arm. “Memories and just… _things_.” And nightmares, and shitty tv, and spilled water, and no sleep.

Steve frowned, and raised a hand for a moment, and then let it drop to his side again. “Is there anything I can do to help?” He said after a moment.

Bucky raised the mug a little higher, before taking a sip of it. It seemed Natasha had told him how he liked his coffee, among other things. “You did it already.” He said, with a much more conscious smile. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, I’m glad I did, you look….well, you look half-dead, if I’m being honest,” Steve said, coloring slightly at his own words. Bucky stared at him in amazement. Who was this man, and why did he seem to care about Bucky?

“You should have seen me earlier…” Bucky mumbled. “It was worse.” He buried his nose in the coffee mug, taking a longer sip of the warm liquid. It coated his throat, and made him feel a little more human than before.

“That doesn’t actually make me feel better about this,” Steve said, turning big blue eyes on Bucky. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He squinted at him.

Bucky shrugged. “It’s not the first sleepless night I’ve had, Steve. I’ll get through it. Thank you, though.” He looked over his shoulder into the window to check on his class. There were lots of glazed faces. “I better get back in there or they’re all likely to fall asleep…”

Steve nodded, and clapped a hand on Bucky’s good shoulder before letting his hand fall back down to his side. He felt the warmth of it immediately, and wanted to grab out and put it back on his shoulder. He didn’t. “Okay. Let me know if I can do anything? Please?” Steve said, looking more earnest then anyone had a right to.

Bucky smiled again. “I promise if I need something, I’ll let you know.” Though how, he wasn’t sure. Email, maybe? Room-to-room phone call? Smoke signal? Each seemed more lame than the next. He’d worry about it later. It wasn’t like he’d actually contact Steve for help, even if he did need it. He was stubborn that way.

“Okay,” Steve said, flashing a concerned smile. “See you later, then.”

“Bye,” Bucky said, raising his mug in favor of a wave. He managed to get the door open with his elbow, and quickly walked in front of the screen to get back to his desk. Not a single student seemed to notice or care. Figured.

The video came to an end, and Bucky hurried to exit out of the web browser to avoid it autoplaying the next clip. He pulled up the short quiz, and turned to the class. “Alright, if you paid attention, you should be able to answer these questions relatively easily. Please write your name, the date, what period this is, and number one through ten down the left side of the paper. No need to write in full sentences.” He sat back down, and gave them until the bell rang to finish.

His computer dinged loudly, announcing that a new email had come in. Bucky ignored it in favor of watching his students. Most finished in no time at all, handing him the paper within five minutes of starting the quiz. Right after the last kid handed hers in, the bell rang. Everyone dived for the door, scurrying out while chatting with one another.

Bucky stacked the papers neatly, and left them on his desk. He’d grade them later. Swiveling in his chair, he turned to read his email just in case it was something important. There was one unread email in his inbox.

**srogers@ nicholasjfuryhs.com  | way to contact me? | 9:26**

Oh.

Bucky clicked it, and it opened into a new window. It read simply:

                   Hey, if you need me my number is: 555-0199. Text or call anytime. :)

His signature followed, revealing his middle initial was G. Bucky stared at the email for a moment, before wheeling back to his desk to grab his phone. He programmed Steve’s number in, and opened a new text.

                   Hi. This is Bucky.

He hit send before realizing he sounded like a robot. He shot another quick text out.

                   Thanks again, btw. :)

Smooth. Real smooth. Bucky let his head fall onto his desk, and groaned aloud. Why was he completely inept at being normal? Why couldn’t he act like he had more than two brain cells to rub together? Nope, he had to go and be…whatever he was. Hopeless. He groaned again. No one would be in his class for another minute or two, so, he was fine to be ridiculous as he wanted without embarrassing himself. He shut his phone back in the drawer, and tried to compose himself before his next students came in.

It wasn’t until after his second class was done and over with that Bucky got the chance to check his phone again. He grabbed for it almost immediately after the bell rang, and saw there was one waiting message. He opened it.

                   :)

It wasn’t even the emoji version of a smiley face. Just a simple colon and closed parentheses. Two little symbols, and Bucky’s heart soared.

 


	10. no go

Natasha didn’t show up for their shared lunch period, which meant Bucky was left getting food by himself. He didn’t mind — he hadn’t shared lunch with any of his friends last year, and he’d survived just fine. And after last night, he could stand to be alone for an hour or two. Maybe he’d be able to collect himself enough to stand actually teaching his final class of the day.

After picking at what appeared to be a sloppy joe, tater tots and a small salad, Bucky sat in his room, looking at the empty desks before him. How on earth was he going to get through the rest of the day? His head weighed close to a ton, but was still somehow full of cotton and fluff. He couldn’t think straight, and if he moved too quickly, the whole room spun.

What he really needed was a nap, a nice long, warm nap surrounded by blankets and pillows, somewhere dark and cool.

What he was getting was another hour and fifteen minute class in about forty minutes. Bucky groaned, and scrubbed a hand over his face. Okay. What could he do to get through this? More coffee certainly wouldn’t hurt. The mug Steve had delivered had only another sip, at most. And since it was his break, he could actually go to the staff room and get more himself.

Bucky stood slowly, letting his head adjust before moving any further. Once he was confident he wasn’t about to fall over, he cupped his hand around Steve’s mug and headed towards the staff room.

He studied the mug as he walked. It was clearly hand made, slightly rough in certain spots, with visible finger prints all over. Student made, maybe. The glaze that coated it was bright royal blue, with tiny flecks of white and red speckled throughout. It wasn’t a beautiful mug by any means, but it clearly held some sort of sentimental value for Steve.

The staff room wasn’t terribly far away from his classroom. Before he knew it, he was standing outside the door. He pushed it open with his forearm, careful not to smash the mug against the wood. As soon as the door swung inward, he heard familiar voices. One belonged to Scott Lang, the senior English teacher, and the other belonged to Steve.

Wasn’t Steve supposed to be teaching right now?

Eh, whatever. Bucky had snuck off mid-class to get more coffee before. He wouldn’t begrudge Steve that.

Bucky entered the room fully, seeing Scott and Steve standing next to each other towards the back of the room. Perfect. Right by the coffee maker, too. He made a face.

“And now Cassie’s sick…” Scott mumbled, looking upset. His hair stood on end like he’d been running his hands through it nervously. Bucky slipped along the side of the room, trying not to interrupt their conversation with his presence. If either of them saw him, he’d be stuck talking to Scott about his kid. Scott was nice, and on the funnier side, but  _god_  did he like to talk about his daughter.

“Oh no,” Steve said, with that same concerned look he’d turned on Bucky earlier. “Is she okay?”

“Well, I mean, she threw up all over my floor last night, and then again this morning so…probably?” Scott replied, with a shrug. “She’s with her mom now, and they’re going to the doctor this afternoon, so I’m not worried.”

“Puke is the worst,” Steve replied, after a shudder. “Abbie’s a puker, so I’m constantly cleaning it up. Or waking up in the middle of the night to hear her vomiting downstairs.” There was a pause, and then he added, “Thank God Dolly isn’t like that.”

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks.

Abbie? Dolly? Who the hell was  _Abbie_? Or  _Dolly_? Did Steve have a kid? Two kids? A kid and a wife?  A girlfriend? Both? Bucky’s mind went a mile a minute. Who was Abbie and why was she at Steve’s house overnight? And who the hell was Dolly?

SEE, NATASHA? He wanted to shout. Steve  _was_  straight! Bucky’s eyes went wide as he thought to himself. His stomach knotted itself up inside his abdomen.

There went his prospect.

His devastatingly handsome prospect who brought him coffee in a handmade mug.

“I sympathy puked with Cassie,” Scott admitted, scrunching his face up. “It’s the smell, I swear…”

Bucky started to move around the edge of the room again, trying to get to the coffee maker without being spotted. He turned his back to them, hoping that would lessen the chances of them dragging him into the conversation. He placed his mug on the counter, and fumbled for the handle of the coffee pot.

“Well, I hope she feels better soon,” Steve said behind him. “I gotta get back to the kids….”

“Nice talking t’ya Steve,” Scott said.

Bucky heard the door open, and then close. So Steve was gone. Probably safe to turn around, then. He did, and saw Scott lingering by the counter that lined one wall of the room. He was leafing through a box of donuts. Bucky could probably ask Scott who Abbie was, but then Scott would know he’d been listening to their private conversation the whole time. Plus he had no urge to listen to him talk about his daughter puking anymore. No, he’d get his coffee in Steve’s stupid ugly mug, and go back to his class. And stew. And think himself silly.

He poured coffee into the mug, added his cream and splenda, and brushed past Scott to leave. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, except maybe Natasha. Just so he could tell her to leave it alone, that there was no chance anymore.

Bucky grabbed for his phone the second he made it back into his room. He nearly dropped the phone in his eagerness to text. He shot off a quick few messages to his red-headed friend.

                   No go. He’s straight.

                   Overheard him mention someone named Abbie staying overnight.

                   So there’s that, I guess.

                   :(

It took maybe a whole two seconds for Natasha to reply to him. He stared at his phone like it held the secrets of the universe.

                   ….

                   what did he say, exactly? his exact words, james.

Bucky typed out his answer, stomach threatening to revolt the whole time. He’d thought Steve was flirting. Maybe. Y’know, a little? But maybe not. Maybe he’d been reading too far into the situation. Maybe he’d been too hopeful.

                   He mentioned that Abbie was a puker and

                   He had to clean up after her all the time and

                   That he heard her downstairs in the middle of the night sometimes

Another beat.

                   well, those probably weren’t his exact words, but whatever.

                   hmm…

                   i’ll get back to you on this.

                   try not to panic, james.

Try not to panic. Ha. Too fuckin’ late, lady. Bucky heaved in a breath, and forced himself to take a drink of his hard-earned coffee. It tasted burnt. Someone hadn’t cleaned out the machine before making another pot, then. Wonderful. He drank it anyway, desperate for the distraction and the caffeine.

His phone bleeped, the screen lighting up with a new text. Bucky blinked at it. It wasn’t from Natasha. It was from Steve. He swiped his finger across the screen to open the message.

                   Hey, I’ve been worried about you. Are you okay?

Bucky stared at it. And stared some more. And curiously felt his eyes start to water, and his face grow hot. See. This was the last thing he needed today. He was bone tired, weary, exhausted, and just  _done_. He was done with today, mentally and physically. But the day wasn’t done with him.

His phone bleeped again. Steve once more.

                   Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?

Yeah, Bucky thought. Not be straight and possibly married with children. Instead, he thumbed out a response that hopefully wasn’t too curt.

                   I’m alright.

                   I can’t think of anything, but thanks.

He hit send, grabbed his phone, dropped it in it’s drawer and slammed it shut. He just needed to get through the next hour and fifteen minutes, and then he could go home and die. Just seventy-five more minuets. That was it.

Bucky wiped his fingers under his eyes, and took what he hoped was a calming breath. Okay. He could get through this. He wheeled his chair back to his computer, and pulled up the video he’d played earlier for both his classes. Bucky took another deep breath. His students were due any second now, and they’d swarm him if they found out he’d just been crying. Or tearing up. Or  _whatever_.

The bell rang, and seven minutes later, class started.


	11. oh shit

Bucky had never been happier in his entire life to see his bed.

As soon as he’d gotten home, he shoved another fast food sandwich into his mouth, striped out of his clothes, and climbed into bed. He passed out almost instantaneously, and stayed that way until the following morning. Dreams evaded him, leaving him peacefully dead to the world.

Just the way he wanted, and needed.

Time had passed. He was pretty sure of that.

Something was beeping at him. A car? No, too high pitched. His phone? He was pretty sure he’d left that in the living room last night. A fire alarm? No, too quiet. Definitely way too quiet. Bucky squinted as he woke, blinking against the morning light. It was bright inside his room, the sun burning the inside of his skull with no remorse.

More beeping.

Oh shit.

_That was his alarm!_

Bucky snapped fully awake, throwing himself out of bed and slapping his hand under it to turn off his alarm. His clock lurked in the darkness underneath his box spring, the red neon numbers steady on its display. He had no tables or nightstands in his room that the clock could sit on. They simply wouldn’t fit. The room was literally a queen sized bed, and one foot of floor on two sides of it. He’d had a hell of a time getting the bed  _into_ the room when he’d moved in. It had taken both Sam and Clint lifting, while he shouted to twist, and pull, and shove. Natasha had spent the whole time sitting on his sofa, drinking a frappucino.

He got ready as quickly as he dared, not quite running around his apartment.  Bucky threw himself into a pair of black slacks, and a button down that was the exact same shade as his eyes. He fiddled with a black tie while his coffee brewed. His bag was already packed — he had only taken his phone out last night, and seeing as he  _still_ hadn’t managed to go the store, he’d have to get lunch at school again. Bucky sighed, disappointed with himself.

Today he was going the store. He had to. He could not keep eating fast food, or his body would straight up hate him. He needed food, real actual food. With vegetables.

Snatching his travel mug out from under his coffee maker, Bucky took one last look at his sad excuse for a home, and left.

The ride to school went faster than expected with traffic, for once, not an issue. The parking lot was mostly empty when he arrived, the red truck no where to be seen. Bucky frowned, a little disappointed, but then yesterday came flooding back. _Steve was straight._ Maybe married, maybe with kids. He had no chance. There was nothing to look forward to, no reason for his heart to beat faster when he saw wide shoulders, blonde hair, and a wide smile.

Shame coursed through him. What had he honestly expected, really?

He pulled himself out of his car, and slammed the door with more force than necessary. The beat-up Toyota rocked. Bucky stomped into the building, ignoring friendly hellos and good mornings in favor of hiding in his classroom until the first bell rang. He was being petty and ridiculous, he knew. He couldn’t help it.

His classroom was like a refuge, saving from him from having to actually be social with the people he worked with. He shut the door behind him — the door wouldn’t let him slam it, no matter how hard he tried — and threw himself into his desk chair. Unpacking for the day, Bucky pulled out his list of students, his grade book, the quizzes he’d given the past two days, and his phone.

His phone. Bucky stared at it, wondering.

He tapped the screen, and it lit up, almost happily. There were at least four new texts sitting on the lock screen. Bucky made a face at it. He hadn’t checked his phone all night. What if there had been some emergency? He unlocked it with a press of his thumb, and opened his texts.

Well, _shit_.

Seven new texts from Natasha, two from Clint, four from Sam, and eight from Steve.

_Eight from Steve._

Why was Steve texting him _eight_ times?

Bucky was a horrible person. He tapped the conversation with Natasha first. She was most likely to behead him if he didn’t answer right away.

                   okay, so you’re an idiot.

                   no, i’m not going to tell you why. you’ll figure it out.

                   but don’t give up, okay?

                   are you alright?

                   james?

                   james barnes, you answer me.

                   you’d better be dead in a ditch. if you’re not, you will be tomorrow.

Bucky winced. The first two texts came within seconds of each other. The others came ten, twenty minutes apart. Fuck. He quickly typed out a reply or three, hoping it would satiate her blood lust against him.

                   Sorry. I was sleeping.

                   Bad night the night before.

                   I AM an idiot, I already knew that.

 He backed out of that conversation, and clicked Clint’s next.

                   Hey R u alive

                   Tasha’s worried

Those came within five minutes of each other. Natasha had most likely put him up to it, but her worry over him warmed him. She cared, even if it was in a slightly forceful way. Bucky didn’t bother to answer Clint — Natasha would tell him he answered her. He moved on to Sam.

                   Hey man, are you okay?

                   Natasha called, said you aren’t answering.

                   Barnes, c’mon.

                   Okay, so you’re either dead or mad or ignoring everyone.

Bucky made another face, guilt coursing through him. His friends had been worried about him, and he hadn’t known. He’d been too busy being dead to the world last night. He answered Sam in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

                   I’m so sorry. I had a bad night the night before and just wanted to sleep.

                   I’m fine now.

                   Promise.

That left Steve’s texts, all eight of them. Bucky set his phone on his desk top, and scrubbed a hand over his face. Who sent eight texts without getting a response? Especially to someone they barely knew. Huffing out a sigh, Bucky picked his phone back up, and dove into his conversation with Steve.

                   Okay, so I know you told me that you’re okay, but I get the feeling you’re lying.

                   Do you need food? I can bring you something. I’m a decent cook.

                   Is this too much too soon? Am I smothering?

                   I am smothering you, I’m sorry.

                   I’m just worried. You looked so miserable yesterday.

                   Bucky?

                   Okay, now I’m even more worried.

                   Bucky?

God. Steve was genuinely concerned. And an enormous dork, but Bucky shoved that thought under the rug quickly. He’d wanted to bring Bucky food last night. _And_ he checked on him multiple times yesterday. And Bucky _hadn’t answered._

He let out a long groan.

He was the worst person on the face of the earth. Just a straight up trash person.

Bucky raised his thumb, ready to type out an extremely apologetic response, when the door to his classroom burst open.


	12. an apology

Steve stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, his massive shoulders blocking out the light from the hall. Bucky had three seconds to see that the art teacher wasn't wearing plaid today, but instead had a very tight chambray shirt peeled over his muscles. He blinked at him.

"I'm sorry if I did something wrong..." Steve started, taking two monstrous steps into his classroom. He came right up to the desk, and looked down at him with the worst hangdog expression Bucky had ever seen. "I was just....concerned. And then you weren't answering, and I was thinking the worst things, and I know you probably have ---"

"Steve," Bucky said, cutting him off mid-tirade. He reached out, and held onto Steve's arm before he could stop himself. His skin was warm, and rather soft under his palm. "It's okay." He smiled up at him. "I should have answered, and I would have, except I was dead asleep. That's it. I was just sleeping."

"You're really okay?" Steve asked, staring down at him with those ridiculous blue eyes. He made no move to remove Bucky's hand from his arm.

"Well, I am  _now_ ," Bucky said, with a nod and yet another smile. His words got away from him, slipping out before he could pull them back into something more reasonable. "Can I make it up to you somehow? For making you worry about me?" Why was he doing this to himself?

"Hmm..." Steve said, narrowing his eyes as he studied Bucky. He was very proud of himself for not ducking away or hiding under the scrutiny of his gaze. "Dinner?" Steve said, after a few moments. A hint of a smile was playing about with his lips. Lips that Bucky was absolutely not staring at.

Bucky blinked up at him, dragging his eyes away from Steve's mouth.

Was this Steve asking him out?

Was Steve  _not_ straight?

Was he reading too much into this?

(Definitely yes to the last one.)

"Uh..." Bucky started, a blush slowly creeping up on his cheeks. "You want me to take you to dinner?"

"Not if you don't want to!" Steve said, definitely turning red now. "No obligation!"

Bucky laughed, taking his hand back only so he could cover his mouth up with it. God, was he an idiot. Natasha _had_ told him. After he got control of himself, he said, "I...uh..I'd love to take you to dinner, Steve." He grinned up at him, a swooping feeling taking over his chest.

"Wait, let's make sure we're on the same page..." Steve started, and Bucky's stomach dropped to his feet. Maybe he had the wrong idea, after all. "Is this dinner-dinner or like... _dinner_?"

Bucky blinked, shaking himself a little before asking, " _What_?"

Steve tried again, turning even redder as he did so. "Like... as friends, or... a date...?"

"Oh." Bucky said, eyes wide. He felt his cheeks go what was probably a deep shade of maroon. He needed to know. He needed to know _right now,_ before he tortured himself any further with hoping, and wishing. He took a breath, steeled himself, and asked, "Uh...aren't you straight?"

Steve sputtered at him almost immediately. "Me? _Straight_? No. No, no, no." He shook his head frantically, waving both his hands back and forth in front of him. "No. At most I probably lean towards bi, but...wait. _Are you straight?"_

"God, no." Bucky answered, feeling rather like he could take flight and soar around the room. He! Wasn't! Straight! "Gay as a....something." He said lamely, laughing at his own stupidity. He slapped his hand back over his mouth. He could feel a full-on giggle fit threatening to break out.

"So..." Steve started, an enormous grin stretching across his face. "A date, then?"

"Yeah, yeah, I think so," Bucky said, mirroring Steve's expression with a smile of his own. He was positively beaming. "If you're okay with that?" A date. He was going to go on a date. With Steve. Steve! The incredibly handsome art teacher!

"More than okay," Steve replied, looking down at Bucky fondly. He laughed, and closed his eyes for a moment. "I was hoping you....you really thought I was straight?"

Bucky winced, and then nodded. "Yeah...Not gonna tell you why, though. At least not right now." Maybe never. He didn't need to know why. Though Bucky was still curious who Abbie and Dolly were. At least now it seemed he'd get a chance to find out.

The door opened behind Steve, and a small group of students walked in and took their seats. Oh. Right. School. Class. He was a teacher. Well,  _they_ were teachers. And class started in, Bucky looked over Steve's shoulder with some difficulty, six minutes. Great. Wonderful.

Steve seemed to come to the same realization as Bucky, almost at the exact same time. He blinked, straightened, and flashed another quick smile. "I'd better get to my class. Lunch again today?" Steve looked down at him hopefully.

"Definitely," Bucky said, schooling his features into a neutral expression. Or at least, trying to. His face was so completely obvious that anyone looking at him would know right away what they'd been talking about. He didn't need to give the rumor mill any more ammunition then what they already had.

But then again, Steve was looking at him like  _that._ Bucky smiled at him after a moment, unable to help it.

"See you then," Steve said, turning away smiling. He left, walking determinedly out the door, leaving Bucky squirming happily in his chair. Once the door shut behind him, Bucky let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"Mr. Barnes, are you alright?" One of the kids asked, looking up from their phone to peer at Bucky.

Bucky jumped, somehow surprised that someone else was talking to him. He nodded, after the words filtered through his brain. "I'm good," He said, with a grin. "How are you guys?" He asked, feeling he could spare the time to be polite. The kids nodded, or shrugged, generally making neutral sounding noises. After they went back to their conversations, Bucky picked his phone up again, swiped through a few screens and pulled up his conversation with Natasha. He typed quickly.

                   I have a date?

                   With Steve, I feel like I should mention.

                   !!!

He waited a moment, and then, Natasha's response came through.

                   congratulations.

                   told you that you were an idiot.

A few seconds, and another text came through.

                   i'm still mad at you.

Bucky sent her back a sad emoji, and then a red heart emoji. She sent him back a knife. Well, he supposed, she _had_ spent all night worrying about him. Not everyone could be so enthusiastic and understanding as Steve was. Not that they were anything alike, anyway. Steve was a happy, ready to help puppy. Natasha was...not. Not that she couldn't be loving, in her own special way. She just...preferred to help in other ways, when and if she felt like it.

Like vaguely threatening the lives of anyone who dared hurt him. Bucky was pretty sure she'd said something to the nurses at the hospital when he'd been shipped back from over seas. They'd gone from being rather brutish and rough with him to downright kind. He'd known her almost his entire life -- she'd been the sassy little ballerina down the street with hair redder than a strawberry, shouting orders at the other neighborhood children. Natasha was a few years older than him. Just older enough that when she'd decided they were friends, Bucky just sort of went along with it. It was either that or get kicked in the shins again.

She was probably his best friend, if he ever stopped to think about it. She cared more for him than anyone else in his life did. Other than his family, anyway.

She'd get over being mad at him after awhile. She came back. Always. Bucky just had to be patient.

The bell rang, shooting him out of his own thoughts and back to the present. There was a classroom full of kids looking at him expectantly.

Time to teach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to update you guys on where I'm at on this fic. Right now I have 23 chapters written, and it's starting to wind down to an ending. If you have any questions, please message me on [tumblr! ](http://drclairefraser.tumblr.com/)


	13. the art room

Bucky floated through his classes until lunch, head lost somewhere in the vicinity of the clouds. Had he been this happy since before he got back from Iraq? No, he answered himself, with a grin the size of Texas. No, he definitely had not. There was a tiny part of him trying to break through the haze of bliss, telling him that he shouldn't get too worked up, just in case this whole thing didn't work out. But that minuscule part of him was having a very hard time making itself known.

He deserved this kind of happiness all the time.

He'd never admit that out loud though.

He wanted to share it with his friends, but only Natasha had any sort of idea of the crush he'd been harboring on the art teacher. He was pretty sure Sam had no idea, and well, Clint probably was too busy hiding out in his office to care. (Clint spent more than his fair share of time in his office, blinds shut against the glass windows so no one could tell if he was in there or not.) Bucky wished Natasha would text him back properly, not just with knife or angry face emojis. It would take a few more hours, he thought, before she got over him not texting back.

"Okay," Bucky said, standing in front of his desk so he could lean back onto it, "There's three whole minutes til the lunch bell. Go ahead and get in line." He finished, waving his hand towards the door. It didn't take long for the students to empty out of his room, stampeding towards the cafeteria with no care for who got in their way.

Bucky followed after a moment, giving students time to run back in case they'd forgotten something. When no one returned, he left, locking the door behind him. He wanted to meet Steve at his classroom, instead of the other way around. He was curious what the art room looked like. He'd never stepped foot in it before, but then again, he'd never had a reason to.

He walked as quickly as he dared towards the gym, scanning the room numbers for the one Steve had mentioned the day they'd met. G099, G100, G101, Bucky counted softly under his breath as he walked, trailing his fingers softly against the wall. He turned a corner, and there was G105. He stared at it a moment -- there were posters of famous works taped to it, along with big letters in various fonts that spelled out MR. ROGERS. Bucky grinned. He didn't know Steve very well yet, but it seemed very him. He leaned against the wall, waiting for class to let out so he could go in.

The bell rang, echoing through the empty hallways near the gym. The door next to him burst open, and students tumbled through it. They were so intent on getting to the cafeteria, that not a single one noticed him standing next to the door. Bucky blinked at them, half expecting dust to start flying up behind their feet. When the last straggler meandered out of the room, Bucky slipped in, rapping his knuckles against the door frame as he did so.

Steve's back was to him, the full width of his shoulders on display. He turned at Bucky's knocking, face quickly melting from curious to downright surprise.

"Still wanna eat lunch with a  grumpy one-armed man?" Bucky asked, with a grin. He stepped further into the room, taking it all in just as Steve had taken his classroom in.

"Yeah," Steve said, with a sweet smile. "Definitely. Though I'm not sure you're very grumpy today..." He followed Bucky, standing at a distance too close for strangers, but too far away for lovers. Somewhere in between.

Steve's classroom was neater than Bucky had expected. Every little thing had a place, labeled by an actual label maker. There were coffee tins full of paintbrushes, little cubbies for drying artwork, pencils and pens and markers all in their own cups, all with little white rectangles stating what belonged where. The walls were covered, floor to ceiling with laminated posters of more art, or helpful diagrams like the color wheel.

"So which piece is your favorite?" Bucky asked, reaching out to run his fingers along the smooth surface of a poster of The Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh. He liked the way the colors swirled and moved along the sky, like the colors were dancing to some unheard music. He looked away after a moment, turning to meet Steve's eyes for his answer.

"That's one of them," Steve said, nodding towards The Starry Night in front of them. "I love the way Vincent used color. Movement. Each piece pulls you in and forces you to look at all of it before you look away." He twisted, and pointed at another piece behind his desk and near his computer. From what Bucky could see, it was a close up on Michelangelo's David. "That's another," Steve said, with a smile. "Michelangelo was the first Renaissance artist to portray David as actually nervous about the oncoming fight. Everyone else made him look extremely young and extremely cocky."

Bucky chuckled, unable to help himself.

Steve rolled his eyes, a hint of laughter breaking through. "Yeah, alright. That too, but c'mon. You're giving into the reason why I don't have a poster of the full piece. I used to -- you know -- " He paused, squinting at Bucky, before smiling again. "But some kid drew on it with Sharpie and ruined it. So I got a close up made." He shrugged. Kids were assholes. It was to be expected. He took a deep breath. "Lunch?"

Bucky flashed him another smile. "Guess we should go get it, huh?"

"Well, I don't have anything safe to eat in here, so probably a good idea..." Steve replied, laughing.

They turned as one, and squished through the doorway together. Steve left the classroom door open behind him, saying that one student had asked him to before they left. Bucky shrugged. Maybe the kid wanted to eat in there by themselves? Or maybe they wanted to work on something while they ate. Seemed slightly fishy, but if Steve was okay with it, who was Bucky to judge?

The line in the lunchroom was surprisingly short, so they were back in Bucky's classroom with their flimsy trays before they even realized it. The selections today were slim, but Bucky had gone with a slice of cheese pizza, a cup of fruit salad, and a brownie. Steve, on the other hand, had gone for a huge bowl of caesar salad, with a side of grapes.

"You're making me feel guilty for getting pizza," Bucky said, around a mouth of the aforementioned. He swallowed, and then grinned.

Steve barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Don't. I've eaten the pizza here more than I'd care to actually admit, and we've only been in school for four days..." He stabbed his fork down into the salad, coming up with a huge wad of leafy greens.

"Okay, so what's your favorite food, then?" Bucky asked, looking curious. He took another decent sized bite of the pizza, reveling in the taste of cheesy goodness. It wasn't the best pizza he'd ever had by a long shot, but even bad pizza was still pizza.

"Mm," Steve started, chewing as quickly as he could so he could actually answer the question. He swallowed, took a sip of his chocolate milk, and then replied. "Probably a nice steak? With vegetables as a side. Like mashed potatoes, or asparagus. Or if we're talking junk food, like...the greasiest hamburger ever with fries and a milkshake." He mimed eating a hamburger, with his hands spread far apart.

"So you're saying I should take you to a nice steak house for our dinner date?" Bucky asked, laying the remnants of the pizza down so he could eat a forkful of fruit. (He hated the crust. It tasted like cardboard, and usually was burned.) He squinted at Steve, hints of laughter etched around his eyes.

"Only if you like steak?" Steve murmured, with a shrug. "I'm really not picky about what I eat. Let's go some place you really love?"

Bucky paused in chewing his fruit. Where did he really love? He hadn't been out to eat in...months? Years? Properly out to eat, mind, he ate too much take out or drive thru food to count. He was talking _out to eat_ , where you dressed up a little, sat down at a table with a candle, actual metal silverware, and a cloth napkin.

He was going to have to get recommendations from Sam or they'd end up at the McDonald's two blocks down from his apartment.

"Okay," Bucky said, with a nod. He finished up the fruit, and dropped the plastic fork onto the tray. "Friday? Or does Saturday work better for you?"

Steve crunched through croutons, blinking at him, before he could swallow and answer. Once his mouth was clear, he smiled sweetly, and asked, "Seven tomorrow okay for you?"

"Sure," Bucky said, grinning. "That's perfect."

That Steve picked Friday instead of Saturday meant he was eager, right? Maybe just as excited as Bucky was about the whole idea of them going to dinner together? He could only hope, but the signs, now that he knew he was reading them correctly, seemed blatant. Steve liked Bucky, for who knew what reason, and Bucky liked Steve for too many reasons to count.

"What's  _your_ favorite food, then?" Steve asked, bright eyes meeting Bucky's across his desk. He finished up his salad, and was now picking at his grapes.

Bucky picked up his brownie, studying it. There didn't seem like there were any nuts hidden in the chocolatey depths, but he'd been burned by the cafeteria brownies more than once. He broke it apart, and poked at it. It seemed safe. Not that he was allergic or anything. He just didn't like nuts, especially in his desserts.

"Hm?" He said, after a moment, blinking. Bucky smiled dumbly at Steve, before actually answering, "Italian food. Anything with pasta, tomatoes and cheese, and I'm there." If left unchecked, he could eat his way through an entire lasagna by himself. He'd get sick afterward, but Bucky would enjoy every bite of the layered dish.

"You can't name an entire sub-genre of food as your favorite. That's cheating," Steve replied, scrunching his nose up. "What's the one thing you could eat, day after day?"

Bucky stuck his tongue out at Steve. " _Fine_. Spaghetti then. With meatballs, and fresh parmesan cheese on top." He pretended to sprinkle cheese on something.

"See, that's an actual answer!" Steve replied, with a laugh. He stood from the student desk he'd squished himself into again, and dumped his paper tray into the trashcan. Bucky watched as he checked the time, and winced. "I gotta go," He said, frowning.

Bucky nodded, understanding, but not liking it. "You've got twoish minutes until the bell. Better go now to beat hallway traffic..." He looked up at Steve, admiring him rather blatantly now that he knew he was allowed to. He was an extremely attractive man. Who, Bucky was still shocked, wanted to date him. How'd he get this lucky?

Steve chewed on his lip, before reaching down and squeezing Bucky's hand. "I'll see you tomorrow," He said. He stared at him, for a moment, and then smiled widely. "For our date," He added, looking somehow even happier. Steve squeezed Bucky's hand again, and then turned to leave.

"Can't wait," Bucky called after him, beaming. He caught sight of the curve of Steve's cheek as he left -- he was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise chapter!


	14. a recommendation

The rest of the school day went by without any incident. The students in his remaining classes responded well to his teaching style, taking notes regularly, if not eagerly. Whatever. As long as they absorbed the information he was spouting, he didn't care if they liked it. Bucky would have preferred it, but it was unlikely to happen. Most kids just didn't give two shits about history. Not that he blamed them, if they'd had bad teachers in the past. It took someone who really wanted to teach to get history to seem interesting. He tried his best to be that someone.

"Who knows what the first British colony in America was called?" Bucky asked, breaking up the monotony of his lecture. He stared out at the kids in the desks before him, trying to spot a hand in the air. None. He frowned slightly. "None of you know? Really?" He made a disappointed face, and then tried something else. "I bet you actually do know, but you don't realize it. How many of you remember watching Disney's Pocahontas growing up?" Ah, there were the hands.  "And can any of you remember the name of the town the Englishmen were trying to get started?"

"James...Jamestown?" A mousy girl in the corner mumbled, looking like she was unsure if her answer was correct.

Bucky beamed at her. "Yes! What's your name again, kiddo? Sorry -- it's the first week, I'll get them soon, I promise."

"Becca," She replied, looking way more confident. She sat up a little straighter, and tucked her brown hair behind one ear.

"Hey, that's my sister's name. I'll remember it, now!" Bucky said, with another grin. "Becca got the answer right. The first British colony in America was Jamestown. Anyone wanna guess what year it was founded?"

"1509?" One red-headed kid in the back shouted.

"Too early." Bucky replied, shaking his head.

"1617?" A black girl tried, from the side of the room by the windows.

"Too late! C'mon, try again!" He waved his hand, trying to encourage them along. They rattled through a few more years, before Bucky stopped them at 1605. He pointed at the kid who suggested it. "You're close, really really close. Jamestown was founded in 1607 by the Virgina Company." He smiled at them. "Be sure to write all this down -- it is important and will maybe probably be on a quiz or test at some point."

They all groaned, but pens and pencils were put to paper. Bucky waited for them to look back up at him before continuing. "Now, a lot of you seem to have seen Pocahontas, but that movie is a mess of historical inaccuracy." He paused, so he could take a swig from his water bottle. "For one, Pocahontas would have been a kid when Jamestown was founded. She would have been something like eleven years old. So no, she did not have a magical song induced love affair with John Smith. But John Smith and Pocahontas were definitely real. So please don't base your test answers on anything from that Disney movie."

A few laughs through his class bolstered him. He continued with his little quiz and response game they were paying attention to. "Anyone know why they came to America? What they wanted?"

The rest of the class went much the same way. He'd ask a question, and usually not get a correct answer. Not their fault -- it was still the beginning of the school year, after all. What he wanted, and what he was getting were kids who were actually listening and participating with him in his lecture. Bucky was getting the information into their heads seemingly without them realizing it was happening.

The bell rang, and they scurried off to their next class, leaving Bucky leaning against his desk. He'd try this tactic out with his next class and see where it got him. It may or may not work. It all depended on the students and if they were eager to be apart of the game. If not, he'd have to deal with just straight lecture. Not as fun, but whatever.

Much to his surprise, the last class not only responded to this teaching style, but many of the kids actually knew the answers. The _correct_ answers. Bucky tried slightly harder questions to try and stump them, and they fumbled a bit. That was alright, though. He was still impressed. It was a little early to tell, but they were already shaping up to be his favorite class of the year.

The school day ended sort of all at once, the bell startling him out of a brief description of the Roanoke colony. He dismissed them quickly, flapping a hand at the door and going to sit at his desk so he was out of the way. They left quietly, waving at him as they disappeared into the hallway.

Bucky flipped through his lecture notes, using a pencil to lightly mark where he'd left off with the past two classes in the empty margins. He spun the pencil around his hand as he thought. Should he give a quiz next week, or was that too early? He chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn't want them to hate him, but he also wanted to know if the information was sticking properly or not.

A knock on the door frame brought him out of his thought. He startled, jumping slightly, looking quickly to see who it was. His stomach clenched, hoping he'd see a wide set of shoulders blocking out the light. Instead, it was a slight frame, and a gap-toothed smile that greeted him.

"How come I gotta hear about your date from Nat?" Sam asked, walking in and plopping down on the edge of Bucky's desk. He was wearing black slacks, and a red button down shirt. His tie, known to be strange, was covered in small birds. Sam gave him a judgmental look, raising an eyebrow, and generally looking unimpressed.

Bucky gaped at him, shrugging after a moment or two. "It literally just happened this morning? When was I supposed to tell you?" He paused, and made a face. "And why's Natasha telling you my business anyway?" He'd have to have words with her later, once she was done being mad at him.

"Oh so you can text her, but not me?" Sam responded with. He kept his face straight for a mere second, before breaking and laughing. "I'm just fucking with you, dude."

Bucky's shoulders retreated from his ears. He hated when his friends were mad at him. He narrowed his eyes at Sam, and then nodded. "Yeah, yeah," He said, more than a little relieved.

"But, for real, you have a date? With the art teacher?" Sam asked, shifting slightly from his perch on Bucky's desk. He looked interested.

Bucky's chest seized, and then his heart rose somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. He nodded, ducking his head to hide his pleased smile. His hair fell forward, hiding his face. When he felt like he could look up and not appear like some sort of crazy person, he responded, "Um, yeah. Tomorrow night."

Sam grinned at him. "Look at you, Barnes! It's only the fourth day of the semester, and you got yourself a date."

Bucky shrugged, unsure what to say to that. Go me? It was pure luck? There was a giant misunderstanding on my part and it could have been way sooner like the same day I met him if I hadn't been an idiot? Though he had no idea if that one was true. Maybe Steve hadn't been head over heels for him the second they'd met. Unlike Bucky was for him.

"So where are you going? What are you gonna do?" Sam asked, once it became apparent Bucky wasn't going to add anything to the conversation.

Bucky glanced up from under his hair. "He said I owe him dinner after making him worry the other night. I was actually gonna ask you if you had any recommendations. I haven't been out in approximately eight thousand years." He gave Sam his best helpless look, hoping his friend would take pity on him.

"Have I got suggestions, he asks. Have I got suggestions..." Sam mimicked, rolling his big brown eyes. "You're talking to the king of suggestions, my man." He reached out and swatted at Bucky's shoulder. "Now, what are we looking for? Italian? Seafood? Steaks? Fancy? Not-too-fancy?" He said all of this rapid fire, spouting words one after another without pausing to take a breath.

Bucky blinked at him, and then shrugged. "He said his favorite food was steak or greasy hamburgers?"

Sam flashed him a look. "Steak or hamburgers? Alright, I guess I can work with that." He flipped out one finger, and ticked off names as he went. "For steak, I'd go to Randy's Steakhouse. It's in some old-ass house downtown. All original furnishings and all that. Super romantic. Definitely on the fancier side, though. For hamburgers, you could go to Betsy's, which is this diner a little outside town. Some new building made to look like a original diner. Good food, but it's a little cheesy sometimes? Not the food, the atmosphere, y'know?"

Bucky nodded, filing all this away for later perusal. "Okay. I'll definitely look into those more. Thanks, Sam." He smiled at his friend, happy that he was so willing to help with just about anything.

"Man, you're welcome. Now..." Sam said, with a wicked smirk. "What's he like? I haven't actually talked to him beyond a simple hello."

"Well, he brought me coffee on Wednesday, because Natasha told him I forget to get more most days?" Bucky offered, and then kept going. "And when he saw how shitty I looked, he gave me his number, and told me to text him if he needed anything. And then that night when I didn't answer him, he texted me eight times to make sure I was okay? And when I still didn't answer, he came to my classroom this morning to check on me?"

"So he's sweet and a little protective?" Sam said, with a huge grin. "Perfect for you, then."

Bucky shrugged, looking hopeful.

"I expect to hear all about it, okay?" Sam said, pointing a long finger in Bucky's direction. "Text me or whatever. I'm going home. See ya later." He hopped off the desk, and loped out the door without another word.

Bucky packed his things up quickly, shut down his computer, turned off the lights, and locked the door behind him. Time to finally get to the grocery store. He promised himself he'd go tonight. He felt great. His shoulder didn't hurt. He wasn't tired, for once. He had no excuse. He was going to the store.


	15. abigail & dolly

School the next day went...well enough. No one had died, or gotten a detention, or sent the principal's office, which were Bucky's usual bad day flags. He had lunch by himself again, which was fine. Natasha had at least texted him this time, telling him she had a lunch meeting with a student. Steve had texted him an hour later giving Bucky his address, and had added about fifteen smiley faces at the end.

He was ridiculous.

And adorable.

And Bucky was terrified to fuck this up.

He'd fumbled his way through the rest of the day, and now, it was six-thirty in the afternoon, thirty minutes before he was due to go pick Steve up. He needed to leave in twenty minutes. Which meant he really had to figure out what he was wearing sooner rather than later. Bucky was staring into his closet, completely lost.

He could wear his go-to date outfit, but that seemed like cheating. Bucky wanted to look attractive, but he didn't want to look like he had on almost every single one of his first dates. If he was being honest, he wanted Steve to look at him and say "Wow," and completely mean it. That meant his red buffalo check button down was not in the running. It washed him out, making him look like a zombie. He pushed the hanger it hung on past. His chambray shirt was a possibility, but hadn't Steve worn one yesterday? Too matchy-matchy. He moved on. He pushed hanger after hanger back, and was left with nothing but graduation robes and a blazer.

Ugh.

Bucky grabbed for his phone, and without thinking much about it, texted Natasha.

                   What should I wear?

                   On my date, I mean, not just like, whenever.

He hit send before realizing she was still mad at him. He hoped she'd actually answer, because he desperately needed help. Thankfully, the phone vibrated in his hand a second or two after the texts went through.

                   clothes are generally a good idea.

Bucky groaned aloud, and slapped a hand across his face. Figured she'd choose now to show off her sarcasm. Fine. He'd beg if he had to.

                   Tasha, please?

A beat, and then the phone lit up again.

                   light blue button down, no tie, grey slacks, black blazer.

                   and you're taking me to lunch on sunday.

Bucky sighed, but quickly shot back a text. He really had to get going.

                   Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!

                   You name the place, I'll be there.

He tossed his phone at his bed, then dove back into his closet to find the pieces Natasha had suggested. He threw them on, standing in front of the mirror on the back of his door. He looked pretty good, actually. The shirt was a little wrinkly on the bottom, but if he tucked it in, he didn't have to iron it. Bucky threw on a belt, shoved his feet into shoes, and ran his hands through his hair. It hung limp on the sides of his face. Fine, fine, _fine_. Bucky fumbled for a hair tie on the shelves of his closet, yanking his hair back into a tiny bun at the nape of his neck. That looked...marginally better.

It was the best he could do with the time he had left. He had to leave _now_. Bucky threw his phone and wallet into his blazer pockets, grabbed his keys, and disappeared from his apartment.

The drive to Steve's house was more than a little nerve wracking. He was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. What if Steve blew him off? What if he decided Bucky wasn't worth the effort? What if this wasn't even Steve's address? What if, what if, what if?

And then, once he realized he was being more than slightly ridiculous, Bucky wondered if she should have brought something for Steve. Like flowers, or chocolates. But, he thought, no one had ever brought him anything on any of his first dates. Not that that was the best scale to judge things off of. He'd dated jerks in the past. Bucky suddenly felt bad, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He definitely should have brought Steve something.

Bucky glanced at the digital clock on his dashboard. 6:50. He had no time to stop anywhere. He'd have to make it up to Steve some way else, or maybe bring him something at school on Monday.

His GPS politely told him to take the next left, and that his destination would be on the right. Bucky followed the instructions, parking his beat-up junk-pile of a car in front of a red brick two-story house. It was on the smaller side of houses in this neighborhood. Two big windows bordered by white shutters made up most of the front. A small covered porch hung off the door, with two pots of yellow flowers on either side. It looked homey, and well taken care of.

Bucky stepped out of his car, hands shaking as he made his way up the steps. He knocked on the front door, shoving his hands into his pockets almost immediately. Something thudded down the steps, and then, barking broke out behind the lower window.

Steve had dogs.

At least two, it looked like. All Bucky could tell from outside the frosted glass was that they were gold, and on the larger side. They barked, and barked, and barked.

"Girls!" Steve's voice sounded on the other side of the door. " _Enough_!" Bucky heard him whistle, and immediately the dogs quieted. There was another moment or two of silence, and then the door opened in front of him. Steve stood there, grinning like a mad man, wearing a white undershirt tucked into a pair of navy pants. His hair was wet, sticking up crazily.

"Hi! Sorry I'm not ready yet..." He said, still smiling. "Come on -- " He pauses, eyes wide. "You aren't allergic to dogs, are you?"

Bucky laughed as he brushed past Steve to stand in the small entryway. Thank God that he wasn't -- he felt like it would have been a deal breaker. "No, not even a little bit," He answered, slowly peeking around at Steve's home.

It was definitely lived in, things stashed here and there in odd places. A fleece blanket was puddled in one corner of a red couch, a dog toy half under an end table. There was what could only be a sketch book open on the ottoman, next to an eraser and pencil.

The walls were a warm, light shade of gold that seemed to light up as the dying sunlight streamed in through the windows. Pictures were peppered throughout the space, some paintings, some personal photographs. Bucky longed to look at them further, but felt it might be rude to help himself through Steve's house.

Two brown noses peek out from behind a corner.

"Who are these pretty doggies?" Bucky asked, looking back at Steve with a smile. The golden retrievers -- that could only be what they were -- came out from their spot, tails going a mile a minute. Bucky leaned over to let them smell his fist, and then scratched behind their ears, alternating which dog he pet.

"That's Abbie and Dolly," Steve answered, looking like a proud father over his pets.

Oh.

Abbie.

Dolly.

They were _dogs_.

Bucky felt himself go red.

Steve glanced at him, and then looked confused. "Bucky? Are you okay? Your face is all pink..."

"Cause I'm an idiot," Bucky said, squinting his eyes shut and shaking his head.

"No, you're not," Steve said, immediately. "Why do you think you are?"

"Uh," Bucky said, deciding quickly to just...come clean. "Do you remember having a conversation with Scott about his daughter being sick, in the staff room?"

"Yeah," Steve answered, slowly. Bucky opened his eyes, and turned to look at him. One of the dogs shoved her skull further into his hand the second he stopped scratching her. Steve looked more than a little befuddled.

"I was in there to get coffee, and I sort of accidentally eavesdropped? And I heard you mention Abbie and Dolly, and I thought they were like...your daughters, or your wife, or something." Bucky says, voice barely audible. "Sorry," he added, after a moment.

Steve stared at him, and then blinked, and then laughed. It would have been a wonderful sound had it not been at Bucky's misfortune.  "You thought they were my kids?" He giggled. "Wait -- is that why you thought I was straight?"

Bucky nodded, hanging his head.

Steve cackled, back bending backwards with the force of his laugh. He slapped a hand on his chest, like he was trying to stop the giggles. "I'm sorry I'm laughing, I'm just..." The word drifted off, mostly because he couldn't talk and laugh at the same time.

Shame coursed through Bucky's veins, coloring him even redder then he already was. Could the floor open up and just swallow him now, please?

"They're named after some of the first ladies," Steve said, after he'd managed to stop laughing. "Abigail Adams and Dolly Madison. I thought you would have got a kick out of that," He added, with a soft smile. His face was a lovely shade of pink, but out of laughter and not pure embarrassment like Bucky's was.

Bucky hesitantly looked up, and saw nothing but fondness in Steve's eyes. He wasn't mad, not even a little. The shame retreated, just slightly. Enough that he could attempt a smile back, anyway. It probably looked more like a wince.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Easy mistake, after all, they've got people names." Steve shrugged. He waved an arm at the living room. "Make yourself at home, I'll go finish getting ready so we can go." He turned, but stopped for a second. He pointed at the toy under the side table. "They like the red tug toy, if you want to try and get on their good side."

Bucky looked at the dogs, who wagged their tails gently back at him. He asked them, with a big smile, "Wanna play tug?"


	16. poor planning

Bucky was sprawled on the ground absolutely covered in dogs by the time Steve came down. Abbie and Dolly had piled on him, licking his face and neck and hand with as much joy as dogs possibly could. They’d abandoned the tug toy somewhere on the ground behind him, much preferring to cover him in tons of disgusting drooly dog kisses.

“Uh,” Steve said, somewhere from above Bucky. He couldn’t see anything other than masses of golden fur.

“Help!” Bucky shouted, laughing as he freed his hand from one of the girls’ reach and waved it towards the ceiling.

Steve whistled again, and both Abbie and Dolly flipped around and sat down in front of his feet at attention. Bucky sat up slowly, blinking. There was fur all over him, long golden hairs that stuck to his blazer like glue. He brushed his hand down the front in an attempt to be rid of some of them. It didn’t help.

Bucky finally glanced up, and was graced with the sight of Steve in navy pants, and a grey-blue button down shirt with the top two buttons undone. He looked…well, he looked a lot of things, but the first adjective that came to mind was  _edible_. Bucky’s mouth dropped open, and it took a few seconds for him to remember to close it.

“You look….” He started, taking a breath. “Really really good.”

Steve flushed at his words, ducking his head to stare at the floor. “Thanks,” He murmured before looking up. “It’s not too dressy, is it? Where are we going?”

“Uh, Randy’s Steakhouse? If that’s okay?” Bucky answered, with a flash of concern. What if Steve didn’t want steak anymore?

Steve disappeared down the hallway, holding one finger up as he walked away. He shouted from somewhere on the opposite side of the house, “Fine with me!” He returned a moment later holding a lint roller. He offered it, handle side out towards Bucky. “I keep like four of these all over the place because of them. I have to roll before I leave the house, and then again when I leave my truck. So much hair everywhere.”

Bucky accepted the roller, standing and running it up and down his front, and then tried to do as best as he could on his back. It helped as much as it could, but there were still small gold hairs stuck against the fabric. Once he was done, he held it back out to Steve, who took it and set it on the side table.

“Ready, then?” Bucky asked, grinning.

“Absolutely,” Steve answered, returning the smile. “After you,” He said, waving toward the front door.

Bucky led the way, pausing at the door to wait for Steve to lock it behind them.

“Abbie and Dolly will be okay while we’re gone?” Bucky asked, peeking into the window beside the door. The dogs had taken over the couch, stretching out once they were sure no one was coming back inside.

“Oh yeah, we went on a run went I got home. They’re exhausted. They’ll sleep til we get back,” Steve said, bopping down the steps and waiting at the bottom for Bucky, who followed at a more sedate pace. “You know, you look pretty good yourself,” Steve said, taking his time looking Bucky up and down. “I like you in blue,” he added, the blush from before creeping back.

“Thanks,” Bucky mumbled, straightening the lapel on his blazer. He smiled, and then moved so he could unlock his car. He glanced back at Steve, and then back at his car, frowning. “Are you gonna be okay in my car? It’s…small.” Bucky said, feeling embarrassed once again. Why did everything he own have to be so shitty?

“We’ll make do, unless you want me to drive? I mean, my truck’s a mess, so it’s a toss up,” Steve answered, with a shrug that probably shouldn’t have been as cute as it was.

“Nah, I’ll drive then. You can scoot the seat back as much as you need,” Bucky replied, making his way around his car to unlock it. No power locks, yay! He hurried back around the car to hold the door open for Steve. He would have waved him in, but you know, one hand and all. “Your ride, sir,” he joked, flashing a bright grin.

Steve, smiling wildly, ducked into the car, adjusting the seat immediately. “Thank you,” He said, with a laugh. “Now, c’mon, I’m hungry!”

Bucky scrunched his nose up as he walked around the front of his car to hop in the driver’s seat. He shoved the key in the ignition, turned it, and then they were on their way.

Randy’s Steakhouse was thankfully not that far from Steve’s place, meaning they didn’t have to worry about any awkward silences on the drive over. Instead, they chatted about work, and about their students for this year. Steve seemed hopeful that some of them would actually turn out to be pretty decent artists. Bucky was just happy he had one class who seemed to  _want_ to learn.

He turned into the parking lot, and let out a string of curse words under his breath. It was packed. He circled the lot, and the worried feeling in his gut worse, and worse the longer a parking spot failed to appear.

“Uh,” Bucky said, after the fourth time around the lot. “We might not be able to eat here…”

Steve frowned, and then pointed suddenly across the windshield to a car pulling out of a space. “There!” He shouted, sounding triumphant. Bucky sped towards it, pulling his car into the spot, and throwing it into park. “But…I still don’t know about eating here. You didn’t score last minute reservations by any chance, did you?” Steve asked, staring out at all the cars surrounding them.

“No,” Bucky answered, making a face. “I honestly didn’t even think about it. I’m sorry,” He said, with an apologetic look. “We can still try? If we can’t get in, I’ve got somewhere else we can go…but we might be a bit overdressed…”

Steve waved Bucky’s apology away, smiling the entire time. “Don’t worry about it! We kind of planned this…yesterday.” He unbuckled, and opened the door. “Let’s see if they can squeeze us in before we go anywhere else.”

Bucky followed, pocketing his keys as they walked towards the entrance. The inside of the restaurant was dark, with small dim lit lights every now and then. The walls were papered in what could only be vintage patterns, probably to make the house look like it did when originally built. Bucky took in what he could in the soft lighting, noting old family photographs on the walls as they made their way further in.

There was a small line of other couples in front of the hostess. They stepped away one after the other, moving to the side to wait, leaving Steve and Bucky in front of a harried looking young woman with a name tag labeled Lily.

“Hi! Do you have any room for two?” Steve asked, flashing a brilliant smile.

Lily stared at them, and clearly tried to stifle a laugh. She looked down at the small iPad on her stand, and poked it a few times before glancing back up at them with plastered smile. “I’m sorry, I really am, but we’re fully booked through October. Would you like to make a reservation for November?”

“Oh, thank you, but we’ll pass for now. Have a good night!” Steve responded, as he gently pressed a hand to Bucky’s shoulder to steer them out of her way. He pulled them both into a dark alcove.

“I’m so sorry, Steve, I had no idea this place was that popular…” Bucky said immediately, the sinking feeling of disappointment taking hold in his stomach. What a great first date. Let’s go to a restaurant we actually can’t eat at, because it’s too busy! Steve was no doubt impressed with their date so far. Bucky wanted to disappear into the floor again.

Steve squeezed his shoulder, and then took hold of Bucky’s hand. He ran his thumb over the back, and said, “Like I said, it’s okay! Now, where’s that other place you mentioned? Is it far from here?”

Bucky relished the feeling of Steve touching him, and managed to pull himself together. “Ten minutes, maybe?” He answered, with a shrug. “It’s…a very different vibe than this place, if that’s okay?” He paused, and studied Steve’s stupidly gorgeous face. He didn’t look disappointed or upset. That was a good sign. “It’s a diner, is what I mean,” Bucky added, with a soft laugh. “Sam said they have the best burgers in town.”

“Honestly, Buck, that sounds perfect,” Steve said, lighting up. He paused, and double checked, “Do you mind if I call you Buck?”

Bucky blinked at him, and shook his head. His stomach suddenly felt like there were a million small creatures inside it, whirling around. Was it hot in here? “Not at all,” He answered, squeezing Steve’s hand in his own. “I like it.”

“Cool,” Steve said, staring at him with a dopey look on his face. After a minute, he nodded like they’d come to an agreement, and towed Bucky back towards the car. They had a dinner to get to


	17. the burger joint

About half an hour later, they were seated in a red vinyl booth with more food than they could conceivably eat on the slightly sticky formica table in front of them. When they'd pulled up next to the diner, Steve had taken one look at the place, and grinned wider than Bucky'd ever seen before. This was the better choice, it was evident immediately.

The waitress sat them as soon as they walked in, and had slapped down laminated menus in front of them, declaring that today's special was meatloaf and mashed potatoes. They'd thanked her, but requested a few minutes to actually look at their options. It hadn't taken very long for Steve to come up with a list.

"I think I want the Hawaiian burger, and the Swiss mushroom burger, and oh god, they have one topped with an onion ring and pulled pork..." He was mumbling half under his breath as he ran his finger down the menu. "And I haven't even  _looked_ at the sides yet!"

Bucky found himself looking more at Steve, watching him struggle to comprehend the vast amount of food they could get, then at the menu in front of him. Steve was infinitely more interesting. His face was flushed -- he was _excited_ , the big dork. Bucky set his chin in the palm of his hand, propping himself up to watch his date.

Steve looked up after a moment, and blushed even darker. "Have you already figured out what you're getting?" He asked, peering back down at the menu to hide his face.

"Nope," Bucky answered, popping the 'p' in the word. He didn't mind being caught watching. "You were being cute," He added, with a shrug. He moved his hand away, somewhat regretfully, and finally looked at the menu. There really were a lot of options. Some were the basics you'd find at any burger place, while others were a little more on the adventurous side. One that stood out had peanut butter on it. That sounded gross, but who knew?

After a minute of fiddling with the menu, Bucky found what he wanted to order. A simple stacked burger with whatever cheese he wanted. Fries on the side. He wavered on getting a milkshake, too.

A different waitress appeared, holding a flipped notebook and pen. She smiled at them, and introduced herself as Maggie. "What can I get ya?" She asked, poking her pen towards Steve.

"Um, could I please get the number seven, a large side of fries, and a strawberry milkshake? And maybe...nah, we'll wait on that." He said, tapping the menu items as he spoke. When he finished, he raised his head and gave Maggie a wide smile. "Thanks!" He passed her the menu, which she tucked under her arm.

"You got it, sugar, and how about you, handsome?" Maggie asked, after jotting down Steve's order. She winked at Bucky, waiting for him to speak.

"I'll get the two stack burger with pepper jack, and a side of fries, please. Oh -- and can I get a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream?" Bucky asked, coloring slightly for no good reason. Steve had ordered a milkshake. Why shouldn't he get one too?

"Sure thing, sweetie. It'll be about twenty minutes for your food, okay?" She murmured, tapping the menus on the table to straighten them. "Your shakes'll be out sooner." She gave them both a smile, and left them to themselves.

Steve reached across the table, and slid his hand on top of Bucky's. "Is this alright?" He asked, tapping the back of Bucky's hand once. "I...enjoy holding hands, but I get it if you don't? I mean...you'd be giving up your only hand, and it's more difficult that way and I just don't want to smother you at all, y'know?"

Bucky chuckled. Steve was a talker when he was nervous. It was cute. Most things Steve did were cute, which meant Bucky was going to be spending a lot of time staring at him, with a stupid dopey happy smile on his face. "I like it," Bucky replied, squeezing Steve's hand once. "Just don't be sad when I hafta let go for a second to do somethin'." He said with a grin.

"No, of course," Steve said, his cheeks turning pink again. "I feel like I should be asking all the usual shitty questions people ask on first dates or something..."

"What do you want to know?" Bucky asked, with a laugh. "I'm an open book!"

"Hmm..." Steve said, as he ran his thumb over the back of Bucky's. "Any siblings? What's your family like?"

"Oh, right to the hard stuff, then?" Bucky replied, making a face. Steve's touch was distracting enough that he figured he could get this out quickly without dawdling on it too much. Not that there was anything particularly bad about his family. They were just that -- family. "Mom and Dad live in Ohio, for God knows what reason. My sister Rebecca travels the world, so who knows where she is right now...They're...my family? Mom worries too much, Dad makes bad jokes. Sister knows just what buttons to push to make me angry," Bucky explained, shrugging at the end.  "I haven't seen them in awhile."

"Do you miss them?" Steve asked, wearing a sad sort of look. His thumb had stopped its circuit on Bucky's.

"Yeah, of course," he said, squeezing Steve's hand. "How about you? Do you still have your mom? Siblings?"

"No," Steve answered, the sad look explained. He took a deep breath, and seemed to force out the rest. "No siblings either. Mom died eight years ago. Cancer. I miss her, but I know she's proud."

"Steve, I'm so sorry," Bucky said, squeezing his hand again. He couldn't imagine not having his family. Even if they were far away, he knew if he needed them, they'd be there in a heart beat. They'd proved that when he'd gotten back from Iraq. They were at the hospital before he was, pacing in the waiting room.

"I'd say it's alright, but it isn't. I miss her every damn day. But...wanna talk about happier things, instead?" Steve murmured, returning the squeeze. He was quiet for a moment, tapping Bucky's hand as he thought. "Um...favorite book?"

"Too many to count," Bucky replied, with a laugh. "Anything sci-fi or fantasy. Mostly sci-fi though. The distant future fascinates me. You?"

"Uh, you're gonna laugh, but I love the da Vinci Code?" Steve mumbled, looking embarrassed. "It's really historically inaccurate, but the whole idea that da Vinci hid something in his paintings is pretty cool." He paused, shrugged, and added, "Plus, I don't really read that much? I tend to doodle or paint instead."

Bucky did laugh, damn him. He couldn't help it. "That's fair, though! The movie was horrible though, I hate to say..."

"Oh no, no, I agree with you. It was a hack job." Steve laughed, too, and everything was back to being normal again.

They bounced back and forth on similar questions. Steve's favorite movie was The Lion King, quickly followed by literally anything Disney put out in their animation studio. He waxed poetic for a while on hand-drawn animation, promising Bucky to a movie marathon at some point. They discovered they shared the same favorite color -- blue. They both liked peanut butter and chocolate, but hated banana flavored candy.  Bucky admitted he wasn't much of a cook, but Steve apparently was.

Their food arrived in the promised twenty minutes, with the waitress appearing out of the kitchen baring a tray full to bursting. She laid everything out in front of them, smiling. After making sure they didn't need anything else, Maggie disappeared again, leaving them to eat in peace.

It was quiet for a bit while they stuffed their faces. Bucky first bite of his burger had been divine, and it was quickly apparent that the rest of the food was just as good. The fries were crispy and hot, with some sort of garlic seasoning on top. The hamburger was juicy and cooked just the right amount. Whatever sauce topped it just added to the overall flavor of amazingness.

After a minute or two, Steve put his burger down. "Okay, so this place is delicious. Sam told you right."

Bucky laughed. "Glad we ended up here, then." He dipped a small handful of fries in ketchup, and chomped them down.

"Y'know me too? Not that the other place would have been bad, but it was awfully fancy..." Steve said, swiping his own fries through ketchup. "This is better, I think."

"Yeah," Bucky said, nodding. "I don't feel like I have to whisper to you or something."

"Right? I always feel like I'm not good enough to eat in places like that..." Steve admitted, making a face. He picked his burger up again, and took a bite, chewing.

"We don't ever have to go anywhere fancy, y'know. I mean, if you want to go on another date with me..." Bucky said, hoping against hope that Steve wanted to. This was going pretty good, he thought. Other than the little mishap with the restaurants, anyway. But it had actually ended up being the better option, this little diner. So maybe that was okay after all.

Steve put his burger back down on his plate, and met Bucky's eyes with his startlingly blue ones. "I want to go on another date with you, Buck."

"Yeah?" Bucky asked, feeling his face light up with happiness. There was that warm feeling again. It lit him up from the inside.

Steve smiled, a slow thing that grew as he studied Bucky's face. "Definitely."


	18. let's do that again

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” Steve said, threading his fingers through Bucky’s. They were standing on Steve’s porch, under the light next to the door. Bucky squeezed his hand, and smiled. Why’d he feel like he was all of sixteen again, dropping his date off for the night? There was no angry father waiting on the other side of the door, or a nosy mother poking her face between the curtains. This was Steve’s house. Those were Steve’s dogs barking on the other side of the door.

“Me too,” Bucky said, swinging their hands between them. He really didn’t want to leave, but his shoulder was starting that dull ache that promised a long night ahead of him. That and it was 10:00 pm already and he was an old man who liked to go to bed before midnight. Not that Steve wasn’t absolutely worth staying up late for. He was.

“Do you wanna come back in for a bit?” Steve asked, throwing a thumb over his shoulder towards the door.

Bucky sighed, a long suffering thing drawn up deep from within him. “I want to, I really do. I just…” He pulled his hand away to motion at his shoulder. He was wearing the prosthetic today, and it had been rubbing him raw since sometime before 7:00 am. “I need to get home and take something for this.” He frowned, actually upset that his stupid arm was the reason he wanted to go home. If he hadn’t taken that fucking bullet, if his arm hadn’t needed to be cut off, if he had a normal fucking life for once…he’d have been able to stay.

“No, I get it,” Steve said, running a hand up Bucky’s arm. He squeezed by his wrist, and then let his hand drop. “Are you okay?”

Bucky shrugged, and explained, “If I had both arms, I’d be ecstatic and happy and just… _wonderful_. But this damn thing is heavy and pulls on my neck and other shoulder, and it’s starting to ache somethin’ fierce.” He was frustrated for what must have been the umpteenth time over his arm. Bucky wanted to tear it off, and throw it towards the street. He probably would have, too, but the damn things were expensive.

“Y’know,” Steve started, with a small smile, “You never have to wear it for me, right? I’m not gonna be grossed out or anything. You should be comfortable.”

The swooping feeling came back, low in his stomach. “Well, I know that  _now_ ,” Bucky said, with a small laugh. “Sometimes it is easier, though.”

“Well, use your judgement,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. He grabbed Bucky’s hand, and held it against his expansive chest. “I guess, then, I will let you go for tonight. But I do want to see you again. In a nonprofessional capacity, if you get the drift…” He waggled his eyebrows.

Bucky snorted. “I get it, ya dork,” He said, leaning in, and pressing his mouth against Steve’s before he could stop himself. Steve’s mouth was soft, and dry, and warm. There was a faint taste of strawberries — the milkshake he’d had at the diner. Bucky kissed him briefly, and then pulled away. “Was that okay?” He asked, still right in Steve’s personal space.

“Um,” Steve said, looking down at Bucky with a wondrous expression. His cheeks had turned pink again.  Bucky was now lucky enough to see that it continued down his neck, and under his shirt. Steve was a full body blusher. He filed that information away for later, giddiness rushing to his head.

This wasn’t his first kiss after coming back from the war, but it was definitely the first kiss since then that he felt all the way down in his toes. Bucky had had his fair share of one night stands, of rushed couplings in bathroom stalls and alleyways. He’d given all that up a few years ago – it hadn’t brought him anything but frustration. Mostly with himself.

He’d been starved for affection after his injury. Bucky had wanted to be touched, kissed, and held by someone who wasn’t related to him, or might as well be. (That meant Natasha’s rather well meant, but brief hugs hadn’t counted.) He’d longed to feel wanted. To be loved. But he’d thought, rather stupidly and shortsightedly, that no one would want him anymore. There was a small part of him that still thought that. Who would want someone who wasn’t whole?

So. He’d thrown himself at strangers. Most had been interested in him for the exoticness of it. They’d get to tell their friends they’d had nasty bathroom sex with a one armed man. A few had wanted to fix him, wanted to help him get used to life with one arm, but he hadn’t been interested in being anyone’s pet project. Bucky still wasn’t interested in that, but it seemed Steve simply wanted him for him. Not for some weird amputee fetish or because he wanted to improve him. He just wanted Bucky.

“More than okay,” Steve said, after a moment. Bucky snapped himself out of bad memories, forcing himself to be present. There was a Steve in front of him, practically begging to be kissed again. “In fact…” He grabbed a fist full of Bucky’s shirt, and tugged him even closer than he already was. Steve smiled, a beautiful thing that took up his whole face. He seemed to glow with happiness in the pale light of the porch. He shifted his grip, leaning down to kiss Bucky once more.

Bucky was in heaven. Or at least, it felt like it. It was a warm, clear night. He’d gone on a date with the most attractive man in the universe, and now said man was kissing him breathless. Yeah. Definitely heaven.

“We should do that again,” Steve said, after they broke apart for the second time.

“Mhm,” Bucky said, a hint of a laugh coloring the noise. He pressed his hand against Steve’s chest, pushing him until he backed up against the door. Once there was clearly no where else for him to go, Bucky slid his hand up Steve’s neck and over his jaw to cup his cheek. With that, he met Steve’s mouth with his own, gently coaxing it open with his tongue. Steve let out a soft noise, deepening the kiss before Bucky had a chance to truly take control. His hand brushed down Bucky’s chest, and settled somewhere near his waist.

“As much as I want to spend the next several hours making out with you on your front porch…I should get home,” Bucky said, feeling a little dazed. The hurt hadn’t quite disappeared from his shoulder, but it had definitely lessened. Adrenaline did that. He smiled up at Steve, wondering how the hell he’d gotten so lucky. What rock did Steve crawl out from? Where had he been six or seven years ago? And why the hell did Bucky want nothing more than to shove the door open, push Steve up against it, and climb him like a tree?

“You’re breakin’ my heart, Buck,” Steve laughed with dark eyes. He lifted his hand, and held it against Bucky’s cheek, soft and warm. Bucky tilted his face into it. “You sure you don’t wanna come in? I have a couch I can offer instead of the porch…”

Bucky let out a long groan. “I want to stay. I want it so bad. But if I don’t go home and take my pain management pill things, then I’m never going to be able to sleep tonight,” He explained, looking up at Steve through his lashes. He wrapped his arm around Steve’s middle, and hid his face in his neck. “You smell nice,” He mumbled, the words mostly lost against Steve’s skin.

“Thanks,” Steve whispered in response. He pressed his lips against Bucky’s hair. “Next time, then, okay? Don’t worry about tonight. Go home, get comfortable,” Steve said, sliding arms around Bucky’s waist, hugging him tight. “I’ll see you soon, I hope,” He added, resting his cheek for a brief moment against Bucky’s neck.

“Whenever you want,” Bucky replied, smiling. He pulled away regretfully, standing a foot or so apart from Steve’s warm arms. “Thank you for letting me take you to dinner,” He said, stupidly formal.

Steve laughed, “You’re welcome? It was my pleasure? I don’t know what the right response is to that. Other than I had a great time, and I hope we get to do it again soon.” He leaned in, after a second, to kiss Bucky one last time. “Okay now,  _go_ , or I’m gonna take you hostage for the weekend.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky said, taking the a few steps down to stand on the stairs. He turned, and just grinned at Steve. A stupid, lovestruck, dopey smile. He waved after a moment, and while he finished making his way down the steps, said, “Good night!”

Steve waited for him to get into his car before waving, and finally going inside his house. Bucky saw brief flashes of gold that meant the girls were ecstatic to see him. He turned his car on, and after a serious minute or two of day dreaming about the night he’d just had, drove home.


	19. telling the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there will be about 28 chapters when this is all said and done! i have the end written, i just need to go back and write chapter 25 LOL. please leave kudos and comments if you love the fic! and follow me on [tumblr!](http://drclairefraser.tumblr.com)

_Please_ , Bucky thought to himself, _please let me fall asleep._

He'd gotten home two hours ago, taken his prosthetic off, downed his pain management pills, and flopped into bed. He was still there, in basically the same position, on top of the covers. The pills had deadened the pain, but there was still a dull ache pounding through the remains of his arm and shoulder. He felt the thud, thud, thud, of his heartbeat behind his eyes.

Sleep just wasn't happening tonight.

He didn't want to completely give up, though, so he stayed in bed. It was dark in his bedroom, and maybe if he thought about something other than how much his fucking arm hurt, he'd drift off to sleep. Maybe.

Probably not, though.

An hour ticked by, and then another. He knew, because he kept getting frustrated with himself and checking the time on his phone.

His shoulder was throbbing. That damn pain medication had done nothing after all, it seemed. Maybe he'd taken it too late. Maybe it was the reason he couldn't fall asleep. Or, he thought, maybe it was because he'd actually had a good night for a change and his body didn't know how to deal with happiness properly. Bucky let out a groan, and shoved his face under a pillow.

He spent the rest of the night alternating between on top of the pillows, under the covers, under the pillows, on top of the covers. Six hours with absolutely no sleep. He wanted to cry. Instead, Bucky pulled on the charger chord to his phone, yanking it out from under his pillow. He'd felt it go off earlier that morning, but hadn't had the energy to actually look at the screen at the time. It was debatable if he had the energy now, but he needed to read the messages, regardless. If he ignored Natasha a second time, she'd stab him at the next opportunity.

He tapped the screen awake, and stared, with one eye shut against the brightness of the screen, at his notifications. Three texts from Steve, two from Natasha, and one from Sam. Not bad. _Definitely_ not as bad as the other night. Bucky opened the messages from Steve first, because he was nothing if not single minded. The first was a kissy face emoji, which sent a thrill down his spine. He'd kissed Steve last night. They'd actually kissed! That had been a thing that he got to do! Bucky cleared his throat, and forced himself to actually read the rest of Steve's texts.

                   Hey Buck -- just wanted to check on you.

                   You seemed like you were in a lot of pain last night.

Well, those were to be expected, honestly. He'd left in somewhat of a rush (or as much as he could have been considering the circumstances) because of his shoulder and arm. Steve was just being Steve, and making sure Bucky was alright. He'd answer those in a minute, backing out in the application to select the next conversation -- Natasha's.

                   you better not back out of lunch, loser.

                   also how was the date?

                   i want details.

Bucky snorted. She'd forgiven him, then. He had nothing else to worry about on that end. She'd treat him normally tomorrow when they met at whatever place she chose for lunch. Hopefully, she wouldn't tease him relentlessly over the dinner issue, but he had a feeling she'd hold that over his head as long as she possibly could. He left that conversation alone -- he'd talk to her later, most likely, to figure out where they were eating the next day. That left Sam's messages remaining. He clicked on the conversation, and quickly saw it was more of the same.

                   So?????

The excessive question marks made Bucky chuckle. Sam was a gossip when it came to dates. He'd definitely want to know everything, but he'd probably judge a little less than Natasha. Maybe. Depending on how Bucky spun it all. He shot a quick smiley face emoji to Sam, along with a thumbs up. Just to be a tease. Even if he was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to roll back over and attempt sleep again, he could mess with Sam. A little.

Bucky went back to Steve's texts, and after reading them over again, decided he could be honest with him. Even if the truth was less attractive than he wanted it to be. He typed as quick as he could, and hit send almost without thinking.

                   Hey.

                   It was a bad night.

                   I mean, like, after the date. The date was amazing.

                   Couldn't fall asleep though.

                   Everything hurt too much.

By the time he was through, there was a small  group of texts sent Steve's way. He felt bad, sending that many at once, but he'd wanted to just get it all out without composing some grand paragraph explaining his night. Steve had seen him. He knew how it had started. Bucky dropped his phone on his chest, and stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Would this be what scared Steve away? He'd understand, if he didn't want to deal with any of Bucky's personal bodily issues. It was a lot to take in, a lot to take care of, if Steve felt so inclined.

Ugh. If _this_ is what turned Steve away, Bucky was going to just give up. Be a single loner the rest of his life. Grow old, die, right here in this bed. Yeah, that seemed preferable. He dwelled on that thought, brooding silently, until his phone vibrated on his chest. He picked it up hurriedly, and almost dropped it on his face.

Steve had texted back.

                   Oh no.

                   Can I do anything? To help?

                   Can I bring you food? Did you get any sleep at all?

Bucky laughed quietly under his breath. So much for that worry of Steve not wanting him. He smiled while typing a reply, and hit send.

                   You don't have to? I mean, I've got cereal and canned soup.

                   No, no sleep. Just sort of stared at the ceiling all night.

                   Super fun.

A reply came through almost immediately. Steve must have been holding his phone, waiting.

                   Cereal!?

                   No, I'm sorry, if I'm gonna date you, you have to let me cook for you.

                   Especially when you don't feel good.

                   Now, gimme your address and I'll come by with food.

                   I mean, if you don't want to see me, I get it, just say so.

Bucky snorted. Like he'd ever _not_ want to see Steve. He was a bit ridiculous about him, honestly. He'd known him all of six days, and he was already almost obsessed with his stupid electric blue eyes, bright blonde hair, and outrageous shoulders. And that was just how he  _looked_. His personality was somehow  _even better._

He thumbed out a response, and hoped for the best.

                   I'd love to see you.

                   It's just my apartment's a mess.

Again, the reply came through seconds later.

                   Please don't worry about that. I don't care.

                   Just want to be sure that YOU'RE okay.

Bucky gave in, and sent his address, along with a message that demanded Steve not go all out on whatever food he was bringing. As if he had any hope of Steve actually listening. He was pretty sure he'd show up with a four course meal, and apologize about it not being more. That seemed like something Steve would do. Another vibration told him he had more texts.

                   Thanks!

                   I'll be by in threeish hours?

                   Is that okay?

Bucky assured him it was, and after he hit send, peeled himself off his bed. He had to clean his apartment at least a little. If Steve saw how it was right now, he'd know Bucky was a slob of insane proportions. He moved gingerly, padding through his space to grab whatever didn't belong. He shoved all laundry at the bottom of his closet, promising to himself that he'd get to it tomorrow. Trash he collected while making faces, throwing it in his garbage bin, and shoving it all down towards the bottom of the bag with a press of his hand. He fluffed the couch pillows, straightened the knit blanket on the back of it, and fished out the television remote from somewhere under the cushions. He stood back, after, and determined it was good enough.

A quick glance at the clock proved he had another hour before Steve would show up. That meant he had a decent amount of time to get himself in a presentable shape. Bucky hopped in the shower and scrubbed himself as quick as he could. He toweled off, and slipped into his best looking sick-day clothes. A pair of thin black sweatpants, and a long sleeved grey shirt. He pinned up the left sleeve, so it didn't hang in his way. A glance in the mirror proved he looked something like a corpse still barely clinging to life, but  _whatever_. He hadn't gotten any sleep. There wasn't anything he could do about how his face looked after that. Even Steve would have had a hard time looking good after a painful night of no sleep.

Well, maybe.

Steve was awfully attractive.

Bucky left the bathroom, and flopped back down on his couch. Steve would be here soon. Things could only get better.


	20. the whole damn aisle

His phone went off again ten minutes later, vibrating loudly against the top of his coffee table. Bucky reached for it, tapping the screen and going right to Steve’s message.

                   I’m outside. Can you buzz me in?

Bucky didn’t bother to answer. He shoved his feet into some shoes, made his way down the stairs, and opened the front door. Steve stood there wearing dark wash jeans and a red henley. He looked way more gorgeous than he had any right to this early in the day. Maybe that was the lack of sleep talking, though. Two bulging reusable grocery bags patterned with smiling vegetables hung from his fists.

“Sorry, no buzzer,” Bucky said, with a smile. He held his hand out for one of the bags. “Can I carry one of those?” He asked.

Steve shook his head, a small smile pulling at his lips. Was he as excited to see Bucky as Bucky was to see him? “Nah, I’ve got it. Just show me the way?” He said, flashing a very noticeable worried look in Bucky’s direction.

“Steve, just let me take one of the bags,” Bucky said, crossing the short distance between them and grabbing a handle of one of the bags. He tugged until Steve relented, and let go. The bag was decently heavy, but not packed to the top. What the hell had Steve brought? “I’m not a complete invalid. I can carry a bag up a flight of stairs,” He added, grinning. He turned, and started his way back up towards his apartment, before stopping about halfway, and looking back down at Steve. “Just make sure the door closes behind you. It kind of sticks.”

Bucky shouldered his door open, and held it ajar for Steve. Looking at his apartment from this view just made him sad. It was such a tiny little space. To have another person in it just made it feel even more cramped.  Bucky frowned at his kitchen / living room, and then turned to Steve, who was standing in the door way, studying everything.

“Sorry it’s so small in here,” He mumbled, with a half shrug. He took the few steps forward, waving Steve along. “C’mon we can put everything in the kitchen.”

“It’s not small,” Steve said, with a grin. He followed, and set his bag on the counter. “It’s cozy. Homey.”

“Those words just mean small, Steve,” Bucky said, a laugh coaxed out of him. He set the bag he was carrying next to Steve’s, and began to unpack it, stacking things on the counter. A bag of pretzels. A plastic bag of green grapes. A tupperware container of cookies, the clear sides opaque with steam.  _Fresh_  cookies, then. Steve had baked him cookies. “What’d you bring, your whole kitchen?” Bucky asked, piling item after item until the bag was empty.

“Well,” Steve started, turning to look at Bucky with a sheepish expression. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to eat anything big, like a full meal. So I brought all my favorite snacks when I don’t feel well…” He shrugged, and turned back to his bag. He emptied it by pulling a package of strawberry jello out, and setting it on the counter.

Bucky stared at him. There was no way he had all of this just sitting around. What grown man that had a physique like Steve ate jello? “You went to the store, didn’t you?” he asked, feeling guilty. “You bought all this for me.” He motioned towards all the food now on his rather limited counter space.

Steve stared resolutely at the jello. He picked it up, turned it in his hands. “I may have? I did have some of it, though!” He looked back at Bucky, with a small smile. “I had the pretzels!” He pointed at them, laughing. Bucky rolled his eyes, a soft chuckle pulled out of him.

“You did too much. You brought too much! No way I can eat all of this by myself…” Bucky said, voice trailing off. “So, you should stay and help me eat it, okay? If you aren’t doing anything today, I mean.” He made a face, hoping Steve would in fact join him. He didn’t want to be alone today, and most of his friends were busy on the weekends doing whatever needed to be done for the following week. Plus, just being around Steve made him feel better. Bucky looked over all the food again, and added, “And you have to let me give you some money for all this…”

Steve shook his head immediately, and Bucky’s heart dropped somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles. He didn’t want to stay. That was okay, he probably had plans or something. Bucky couldn’t blame him. The weekend was one time he felt he could actually get anything done. “No, no, no. I’m taking care of you because I want to. You don’t have to  _pay,_ ” Steve said a moment later, like Bucky was suggesting something absolutely ridiculous. He smiled, and then added, “And I’ll only stay if you want me to, I get if you need to be alone.”

Bucky felt himself relax, just a little. “I want you to. I don’t…don’t want to be alone right now,” He admitted, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “It’s easier when I’m distracted,” Bucky murmured, with another shrug.

“Then I’ll stay,” Steve said, nodding. He smiled, and turned back towards the food. He picked up what needed to be kept cold, and moved towards the fridge. “Now, whatcha wanna eat first? I’ll put all of this away. You should go sit down.”

Bucky made an uncertain noise. The possibility of choices was particularly overwhelming this morning. Steve appeared to have bought the entire snack aisle at the store, and then some. “Grapes?” he suggested, with a questioning look. “I guess grapes.” He grabbed the bag, opened it, and ran the small fruit under the tap for a moment. His momma had taught him you always wash produce. No matter what. He tapped the bag against the side of the sink, letting the excess water drain out of the holes. “Just, um, make yourself at home. Open cabinets, drawers, whatever,” Bucky said, reaching for the cabinet where he kept his bowls. He pulled one down, and threw a cluster of grapes in it.

He put the grapes in the fridge before gathering his snack and heading back towards the couch. Bucky shoved himself against one of the arms of the sofa, tucking the bowl in his lap, protectively.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Bucky asked, looking over his shoulder towards Steve, who was puttering about the kitchen. He opened cabinet after cabinet, before finally finding where Bucky kept his dry goods — pasta, chips, crackers, that sort of thing. He set the bag of pretzels inside, and moved on to the next item. Bucky watched, chomping on a small handful of grapes. They tasted better than he thought they would.

Steve paused, holding the tupperware of cookies. “Sure — did you have one in mind?” He asked, before setting the cookies back down on the counter. Right where Bucky would have left them. He liked the sound of Steve moving around behind him. His apartment finally felt properly  _full._ There was finally life between these four walls, not just the lonely ghost of a pathetic one-armed man.

“Um, whatever we can find on Netflix?” Bucky retorted, with a soft laugh. He threw another grape in his mouth, enjoying the way it felt on his tongue when it burst between his teeth. Steve finally finished in the kitchen, and made the short way into the living room. He sat on the couch, sending the cushions tilting towards him.

“C’mere,” Steve said, holding his arm up. Bucky blinked at him, and then it clicked — he wanted to snuggle. Well, he was all for that. He shifted, holding his bowl of grapes carefully as he fit himself to Steve’s side. The larger man tucked his arm around him, and adjusted a little to get comfortable. Bucky liked this position almost immediately. He was warm, and protected by Steve’s arm. Yeah, they could definitely do this all day.

Bucky felt around for the remote, grabbed it, and turned his TV to the familiar red and black screen of Netflix. He flipped through it slowly, waiting for something to stick out amongst the usual offerings the subscription service had.

“How about an animated movie?” Steve murmured, running a hand up and down Bucky’s arm. “I think they have Hercules? Or Mulan? Or other Disney movies…”

“Is this you telling me you want to watch a Disney movie with me, Stevie?” Bucky teased, reaching towards his bowl for another grape. Steve froze, going stock still next to him. He blinked at Bucky, looking a bit green around the gills.

“Steve?” Bucky said, twisting in his spot so he could look at him a little better. “Did I say something wrong? We can watch a Disney movie, I really don’t care that much…”

“No,” Steve answered, shaking his head slowly. His words came out in almost a whisper, explaining. “You called me Stevie, right?” Bucky nodded, confusion stamped across his features. Steve closed his eyes, and continued, “My mom always used to call me that…that’s all. Haven’t heard it in a really, really long time. Just surprised me.”

“Do you not like it? I won’t do it again…” Bucky said, in what he hoped was a comforting manner. He dropped the grape back in the bowl, much more invested in what Steve had to say. He’d get it if it dredged up memories he’d much rather not think about.  He hadn’t even really thought about the nickname before he’d said it. It just sort of slipped off his tongue.

A small smile appeared back on Steve’s face. He resumed stroking Bucky’s arm, and answered, “No, I like it. Reminds me of her in…in a good way.”

They sat back, getting comfortable together again on the couch. Bucky flipped through the options on Netflix again, finding the one movie he knew would make Steve smile. The opening bars of A Circle of Life echoed through his apartment a moment later, sending shivers up his spine. He hadn’t seen this movie in ages. He hoped it held up to the test of time.

Steve pressed a kiss against Bucky’s temple, and whispered, “Good choice.”


	21. really hope you want to

Beauty and the Beast had followed The Lion King. Mulan, and then Aladdin had followed those movies. It was now close to dusk, and somewhere along the way, they had shifted on the couch. Steve was now stretched out along it, with Bucky laying atop him. Most of his body weight was on the couch between his legs, with his head resting on Steve’s chest. Somehow, Bucky had managed to stay awake for all four movies. He was drifting now, falling in and out of sleep as the credits for Aladdin scrolled up the television screen.

“So…” Steve started, trying for casual but failing rather miserably. Bucky twisted from his spot on Steve’s chest, and blinked up at him, attempting to focus his eyes on Steve’s face. He was so tired it was hard to actually listen without drifting off. Steve was warm and holding him close. He was safe in his apartment. All of these things combined were making it almost impossible to stay conscious. “I’d like to ask you something?” Steve said, turning slightly pink around the edges. “But I feel like you’re falling asleep on top of me, so maybe I’ll wait…” He added, with a laugh.

Bucky blinked again, and squinted at him. “It sounds important. You can go ahead and ask whatever. Always.” He rested a hand on Steve’s chest, and patted him lightly. “I won’t fall asleep, I promise.” Bucky laid his head back down where it had been, and waited.

Steve barked out a laugh, a delightful sound that echoed through the small spaces of Bucky’s apartment. He wanted to hear that in his home forever, please and thank you. “Y’sure?” Steve asked, raising his hand to play with the ends of Bucky’s hair. “It can wait, really…”

“Just ask?” Bucky said, laughing.

“No, I’ll wait.” Steve replied, holding firm. “Go to sleep, Buck.” He ran a hand down the back of Bucky’s neck, almost petting him. Bucky wasn’t too ashamed to admit that it felt wonderful. His eyelids were heavy, slowly drifting shut with each passing second. But then he remembered that one: Steve didn’t live here, two: Steve had been here since eight something that morning, and three: Steve was not actually a bed.

“No, you probably want to go home. You don’t want me to sleep on you,” Bucky said, dragging himself back to consciousness. He pushed himself up enough that he could look up Steve’s chest, and meet his eyes.

He couldn’t ask Steve to stay here this long. They had only just had their first date last night. Bucky barely knew him, but he trusted him. It might be a mistake to, honestly, but he couldn’t help it. There was something about Steve that just screamed dependable and responsible. Maybe it was those big blue eyes, or the way he seemed to genuinely care that Bucky was alright. Or maybe it was that he really was just one of those earnest people who wanted to help everyone.

Steve made a face at him, and shook his head slowly. “I don’t mind,” He said, with a soft laugh. “Really! It’s kind of comfortable,” He added, with a shrug.

Bucky hated to give reasons for Steve to leave, but they needed to be said. Just in case. “What about the girls? Don’t they need to go out or get walked or played with?”

“Nope, my neighbor watches them for me when I’m gone long periods of time. She’s a single mom with a kid in….third grade, I think? They like to play with them.” Steve answered, with an amused face. He’d clearly thought of just about everything, and was rather proud of it.  “I told them my friend had a bad night, and needed help, and that I wasn’t sure when I’d be back. She jumped at the chance to take them.” Bucky’s face felt warm. Steve had basically planned to be here as long as he needed to be. For  _him_.

“Oh.” Bucky said, a tiny bit shocked. He hid his face against Steve’s chest again. When was the last time someone had literally dropped everything to make sure he was okay? When had anyone offered to stay with him all day like this? Natasha, Sam, and Clint had taken shifts right after he’d gotten out of the hospital.  Not that there had been anything wrong with that — they all had their own personal lives, and whatnot. But this level of…devotion? Was that even the right word, here?

This was something else.

Something that made him feel warm, from the top of his head all the way to the tips of his toes.

“Do you want me to stay?” Steve asked, gently, resuming his soft petting of Bucky’s hair.

“Yeah,” Bucky whined, thumping his face against Steve’s chest. “But I don’t want you to feel like you  _have_ to _.”_

Steve snorted, and offered, “Would it make you feel any better to know that I really don’t want to go home?”

“Why wouldn’t you want to go home?” Bucky asked, the words mostly lost into Steve’s red henley. Nine times out of ten, he’d would rather be at home. Sure, it wasn’t the fanciest or most comfortable place in the world, but it was his. All his stuff was here. He didn’t have to wear pants, if he didn’t want to. Home was great.

“Well, honestly,” Steve said. He paused for a moment, even stilling his hand on Bucky’s hair. Bucky reached up and moved it for him, grabbing his wrist and moving his hand up and down on his hair. Steve took over after a second or two, laughing.  Still petting him, he finished his previous sentence. “It’s kind of lonely? I mean, it’s not like Abbie or Dolly can speak English. And…” He went quiet, and Bucky lifted his head to look this time. Steve had gone a bit pink around the edges again, and was staring at the ceiling instead of at him. “I like you. A lot. So…you’re infinitely better company.”

Steve was lonely. Bucky understood that better than he might realize. He wondered, briefly, if Steve had any other friends. He hadn’t ever mentioned any, in any of their conversations. That didn’t mean anything conclusive, though, but it did raise a few questions. On top of that, Steve didn’t have any family. No mom, no dad, no siblings. All he had, or so it seemed, were dogs. And dogs are pretty great, but they don’t really make up for human interaction.

“I like you a lot, too,” Bucky said, after a moment of battling the contrasting feelings of sadness for Steve, and outright joy over his admission. He laid his head back down, and smiled into Steve’s shirt.

Steve looked down at him then, and smiled wider than Bucky had ever seen before. “Yeah?” He asked, looking very pleased.

“Yeah,” Bucky parroted, nodding. Of course he liked Steve. What was there not to like?

“Okay,” Steve said, laughing softly. “I’ll stay, then. On one condition….”

Bucky raised his head, and stared at him sleepily, but expectantly. Steve grinned again, and finished with, “Can we order a pizza or something? I’m starving.”

“Oh shit, of course!” Bucky said, blinking a little bit more awake. Had Steve eaten anything other than bits and pieces of snacks since he’d gotten here? Bucky was a terrible host! “I’ll pay if you go down and get it when they get here?” He said, reaching for his wallet — he’d left in on the coffee table that morning.

“Deal,” Steve said, helping Bucky by shifting slightly.

Forty minutes later, and they were chowing down happily on two large pizzas and eight garlic knots. Bucky had gotten himself a cheese pizza with mushrooms, while Steve wanted the classic pepperoni. While they were eating, Old Spock was confronting Young Spock on the television. Star Trek had been Bucky’s choice — he was a sucker for the new reboot cast. He’d seen the first movie way, way too many times. Steve, surprisingly, hadn’t seen it before.

“Have you seen any of the Star Wars movies?” Bucky asked, after swallowing a large bite of pizza.

Steve shook his head — his mouth was too busy chewing to answer properly.

“ _How_?” Bucky asked, staring at him. He dropped his pizza slice back into the open box. “They’re on TV like every weekend…didn’t you ever get curious what all the fuss was about?”

Steve finally finished chewing, and was able to speak up for himself. “I dunno, they just never really appealed to me?” He took another bite, and chewed quickly. “It’s not that I don’t like sci-fi or space, it’s more that I prefer fantasy?”

Bucky took a sip from his glass of water, and nodded. “Okay, so like Lord of the Rings?” He owned the movies, somewhere in this minuscule apartment. Those were another set of films that he’d watch whenever they happened to be on TV. Something about watching Aragorn was just too good to pass up.

Steve smiled around a mouthful of garlic knot, but nodded. Bucky made a mental note to do a marathon with him at a later date. Maybe then he’d actually be able to stay awake longer than five minutes at a time.

The movie came to a close two hours later. The pizza boxes lay forgotten on the coffee table, both mostly empty. Wadded up napkins and empty cups sat next to the boxes. Bucky was back to his new favorite spot — on top of Steve. He was also mostly asleep. His eyes were closed, his cheek pressed against Steve’s chest, and his body was 100% relaxed.

“Hey,” Steve whispered into Bucky’s hair. “Hey, Buck, are you sleeping?”

Bucky didn’t answer, the words floating around whatever mostly cloudy thoughts he had. He heard Steve, and knew he was talking, he just had no energy to actually answer. For all intents and purposes, he was asleep.

“I guess you’re asleep,” Steve said after a moment of pure silence. Bucky felt Steve shift slightly underneath him, and then a warm hand pressed against the small of his back. “That’s good, I guess.” Steve mumbled, obviously trying to be quiet. “I wanted to tell you how happy you’ve made me these past few days. It’s ridiculous, I know. I don’t know your full name, or what your parents are called, or where you grew up, but it’s been a rough few years, and just…meeting you was wonderful.”

He quieted, and rubbed Bucky’s back softly. Bucky drifted off further, enjoying the body contact. “I just hope that…maybe after a few more dates or whatever, that you’ll — God, I feel like a high schooler all over again –” Steve cut off, laughing almost silently underneath Bucky. He picked up his one-sided conversation after a moment or two, back to whispering into Bucky’s hair. “You’re totally asleep, and not getting any of this, but I’d like to be exclusive? Boyfriends? If you want to, I mean.”

Steve went quiet again, for so long that Bucky truly did slip into a full sleep. He missed it, being asleep and all, when Steve spoke up once more. He pressed a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head, and whispered, “I  _really_  hope you want to.”


	22. thank you

Bucky woke slowly, relishing in the feeling of being warm and totally relaxed. He'd actually slept through the night, not waking once! What a concept. It took him a moment to realize he was in his bed, with a pillow under his head and his blankets and sheets tucked around him. He opened his eyes immediately to confirm, and found that, yes, he was in his bedroom. When had that happened?

And where was Steve?

He twisted to the side, to check the other half of the bed and found it sadly empty, with no signs of occupation. Bucky frowned, and slipped out from under the covers. He was wearing the sweatpants from yesterday, minus the shirt. He looked around by the side of the bed, and found it puddled at his feet. He must have ripped it off at some point in the night. Bucky hated sleeping with a shirt on; it always felt like it was choking him. He left it on the floor, choosing to hurry out into the living room / kitchen to see if Steve was still there.

A quick glance around proved that he wasn't, but the mess had been cleaned up, and the couch _did_ look like someone had slept on it. The knit throw blanket was folded neatly on the back again, but there was a large person sized divot in the cushions, along with one throw pillow bunched up at one end. There was a piece of paper folded in half resting on the aforementioned pillow. Bucky's name was neatly written in red marker on the front. He picked it up carefully, and unfolded it to read.

               Hey Buck --

I wanted to stay longer, and I certainly didn't want to leave without saying goodbye, but my neighbor needed me to pick up the dogs. Something about a soccer game for her kid? Anyway, I'm sorry I couldn't stay. I hope you wake up feeling a million times better. I had a great day with you yesterday.

               Yours,

               Steve

Bucky smiled at the paper like an idiot, but whatever. Steve had left, sure, and that made him feel a little upset, but he'd left a note. Probably because he didn't want to wake him up. And, he suspected, Steve had carried him to bed, and tucked him in. Because he was a gentleman. Bucky rubbed a hand over his face, and stifled a laugh. Where did Steve come from? Why was he so goddamned nice? And why on earth was he attracted to Bucky, of all people?

The urge to text Steve coursed through him, forcing him to put the paper on the table, and scour the apartment for his phone. He checked the coffee table, the cushions of the couch, a side table, and even the counter in the bathroom. Surprisingly, the device was exactly where it was supposed to be -- plugged in under his bed. Bucky blinked at it, and then dragged it out by the power cord.

There were three texts from Nat, but Bucky ignored them in favor of opening Steve's conversation right away. He typed as quickly as he could.

                   Hey handsome

                   Thanks for staying with me yesterday

                   And for tucking me in, and cleaning up, and plugging my phone in...

                   The phone buzzed in his hand, Steve answering him right away. Like normal. He must always have his phone on him. Two texts came through under his own.

                   Hey! You're awake! :)

                   Are you feeling better?

Bucky laughed at him ignoring his thanks, but answered anyway.

                   Yeah, much!

                   Sleeping a full night usually does the trick.

                   Apparently, the secret is to nap on a handsome art teacher.

                   Who knew?

There was a bit of a longer break between responses, leaving Bucky staring at his phone hopefully.

                   Hahaha!

                   Well, I'm yours whenever you want me.

                   :)

Bucky felt his stomach lurch, and then drop somewhere down by his feet. This was a good thing. They were flirting over text, after Steve spent the night. And now Steve was declaring himself Bucky's. He responded, after a moment of feeling very, very happy.

                   I'll hold you to that!

Steve replied immediately.

                   You should, I mean it!

Bucky had no doubt that he did. How could he, when he'd already seen proof of it? Steve had gone out and bought the whole grocery store for him yesterday, and then spent literally all day with him. All because Bucky had wanted him to stay. Another text from Steve sent his phone vibrating in his hand again.

                   So can I take you to dinner next Friday?

His fingers couldn't move fast enough to get the answer there in the amount of time Bucky wanted it to.

                   Of course!

                   That'd be what, our second date?

He hit send, and grinned down at his screen. He was going on another date with Steve! That was something to look forward to. This would get him through the school week, and the rest of today, no doubt about that. Bucky was still fantasizing about dates and not having to deal with school when Steve's reply appeared.

                   You mean you don't count yesterday as one?

                   :(

Laughing, he answered.

                   Nah, we totally can count yesterday.

                   You were here alllllll day.

                   It was awesome.

Bucky finally flopped backwards onto his couch, and squished himself into the cushions until he was comfortable. While he was adjusting, his phone went off again.

                   It was!

There was a single second delay between that text and the next, which was a picture of two golden retriever rear-ends, Steve's sneaker covered feet, and a red leash stretching towards the girls' necks. They were on a walk, then.

                   Abbie and Dolly say hello, by the way!

Bucky laughed again, studying the picture some more before answering. There were no distinctive features to the background of the picture, so he couldn't tell where they were headed. He typed quickly, and hit send.

                   Tell them I said hi, and that I hope they enjoy your walk!

Steve sent back a heart. Bucky sent one back, and then dropped his phone back on the table. He'd let them walk without interrupting them. Anyway, Bucky had to get ready for his lunch with Natasha. It was already 11:30. She was bound to demand his attention sooner rather than later.

With a fluttering heart, and a happy attitude, Bucky got ready for the day. He took a quick shower, scrubbing his hair a little more than he normally would. Natasha frequently like to comment that he looked like a hobo with money. There would be none of that today. He was doing  _good_. He didn't want to hear her talk shit about him. Not today. Bucky dressed in his darkest jeans, a grey henley with the sleeve pinned up, and his motorcycle boots. He didn't have the bike anymore -- for obvious reasons -- but the boots, he'd kept. They were comfortable, and made him feel like he could still kick someone's ass.

Bucky was pulling his hair back into a low bun when his phone went off again, four times in a row. That meant it was most likely Natasha. He finished with his hair, and reached for his phone, pulling up her conversation almost instantly. Sure enough, four texts from her had arrived.

                   i'm out front.

                   you better be ready.

                   you're taking me to sakura for lunch.

                   i'm driving.

Rolling his eyes, Bucky double checked his pockets for his wallet and keys. Once he was reasonably certain he had both on him, he headed out the door. Sakura wasn't one of his favorite places to eat, but that never seemed to matter to Natasha. This was supposed to be punishment lunch, he guessed. He'd find something to order, probably with Nat's help. Either that or he'd make her stop at McDonald's on the way back.

A black Camaro idled at the curb, making more noise than was strictly necessary. Bucky sighed at the sight, but hurried down the path to the street. He tugged open the passenger side door, and folded himself into the space allowed.

"Hey Tasha," he said, with a wave. She grinned at him from behind huge round sunglasses, waited approximately three seconds for him to buckle himself into the seat, and then floored it.


	23. sakura

Sakura was across town, closer to Natasha and Clint's house then to Bucky's apartment. That meant they spent the next fifteen minutes bobbing and weaving through traffic, narrowly missing other cars. Bucky clung to the door handle with as much force as he could manage, hoping to God that Natasha knew what she was doing. He  _hated_ being a passenger in her car. She drove like she needed to be some place two days ago.

"Can you slow down?" Bucky pleaded, taking his eyes off the road for a half-second to stare in her direction. She was glaring at a car in front of her like it had personally offended her mother. She flipped it off, honked her horn, and then sped around it.

"No," Natasha answered, not even bothering to glance at him. She was too busy figuring out where they'd end up next in traffic. Bucky could see her calculating the odds behind her sunglasses.

She moved the car two lanes over, into a slightly larger gap between two SUVs, and sped up as much as she was able to. Once she wasn't able to go any faster, she zoomed into the next lane over, and then she zipped them around a corner.

Sakura was right there, white walls gleaming in the mid-morning sun. Natasha pulled into the parking lot, slipped them into the closest spot she could find, and turned the car off.

Bucky blinked, and then took what felt like his first breath since he'd gotten into the car. Is that what a near death experience felt like? He felt like he should know.

Natasha pulled herself out of the car, and stood by his door, waiting for him. Bucky got out slowly, taking his time to stretch and make it known he was not her lackey to boss around. She glared at him, flipping her sunglasses up to to the top of her head so he could actually see the daggers leaving her eyes. Once Bucky had dragged it out long enough, he led the way to the restaurant, holding the door open for his red-haired friend.

The host seemed to know Natasha, as he grabbed two menus and hurried them towards a booth at the back of the restaurant, all without a word. It was only when they sat down that he mentioned their server would be with them shortly.  He then disappeared back towards his spot at the front of the building.

Bucky stared at the menu, and then stared some more. Why had Natasha picked a sushi place, again? He didn't know what most of these items were, let alone how to pronounce some of them. He poked at a title on the laminated paper, and tilted it towards Tasha.

"What is this? Is it spicy? Is it raw?" He asked, more confused than he wanted to admit. Tempura seemed fairly normal. The menu explained it was basically deep fried batter. Bucky could probably try that without complaints. He looked further on down the list of items, and saw ramen on the menu. He knew what that was, so maybe he'd order that.

Natasha looked at him over the top of her menu, and raised an eyebrow. "I'll order for you, James. And no, I won't make you eat anything spicy or raw. I'm not cruel."

Bucky harrumphed, but leaned back against the booth. He'd been about to ensure that she wouldn't force him to eat anything like that. She'd read his mind. Again.

The waitress arrived with a smile, introducing herself as Cindy. She gave them glasses of water, and waited patiently for their orders. Natasha rattled them off quickly, flashing a polite grin as she did so. Bucky didn't catch any of the names -- she was speaking too quickly. The waitress seemed to get everything though, writing quickly in a little black booklet as Natasha ordered. Cindy nodded once she was through, and told them it would be about ten minutes before their food would be out.

"So," Natasha said, after the waitress had left. She fiddled with the straw wrapper, twisting it off the straw, and bunching it up in her fist.

Here it came, Bucky thought. She was going to interrogate him about Steve, and about their date. She'd demand all the details, want to know what they'd done, where they'd ate, if they'd had sex all over the back of his car. Y'know, the juicy details.

"So?' Bucky parroted, just to prolong the inevitable.

"James," she started, looking strangely concerned. She reached across the table to lay one hand across his own. "You've had a few bad days this past week. I'm worried about you," Natasha said, simply. "You had a decent summer, if I remember right.  And now all the sudden you're not sleeping, and acting strange. What's changed?"

"Just school starting, I think," Bucky answered, mostly relieved they were starting with this. "It felt like it came out of nowhere," He added, with a shrug. He'd planned poorly again, and it had come back to bite him in the ass, just like always.

Natasha made a face at him, unimpressed. "And Steve. He's new," She pointed out, pausing to take a sip of water. "You were very worried about him earlier this week, about whether or not you stood a chance with him. And now....have you figured everything out?" She asked, raising an eyebrow again.

"Uh," Bucky started, eyes going wide. So, they _were_ doing this? He was confused. He blinked, and then remembered the day he'd had yesterday. Steve had taken care of him, brought him food, and stayed with him as long as he'd been able. Bucky smiled, a small thing that was barely there, and said, "Yeah, yeah, we have."

"And?' Natasha asked, eager to hear whatever he wanted share. To anyone else, this would have looked much like her normal face, but Bucky prided himself in being able to read her well.

Bucky dragged his water glass closer, and took his time taking a drink. What exactly should he say? That they were dating? That they'd spent all yesterday together? He swallowed, and decided that the bare minimum would do for now. "We're dating now," He answered, with a nod. "We went on a date Friday, and then he came over yesterday after I had another bad night..." He trailed off, suddenly remembering how they'd started this conversation. He made a face at his own words, and Natasha echoed it.

" _Another_ bad night, James?" She asked, tilting her head slightly. "Are you sure you're ready for another relationship?" Natasha paused, and flicked her hand at him before he could interrupt. "Not that Steve isn't wonderful, because he is. I mean, mentally, are you ready?"

The waiter came, then, baring a tray loaded with food. He set plate after plate down in front of them, left a few bottles on the table, and then disappeared once more. Natasha picked up a pair of chopsticks, and used them to move certain rolls to a single plate. She then handed it over to Bucky, who stared at it.

 "Eat," Natasha said, shoving another pair of chopsticks at Bucky.

Bucky took them, broke them apart, and used them to pick up one of the rolls Natasha had presented him with. Despite her driving him absolutely nuts ninety percent of the time, he did trust her. There was no real reason to believe she'd order him something he wouldn't like. He popped the roll into his mouth, and chewed.

It wasn't bad. Probably not something he'd order himself, but good. There was some sort of meat on it, possibly crab. He wasn't the biggest fan of seafood, but look where Natasha had taken him. He figured it'd be pretty hard to find something with out fish or shrimp or crab on it.

"He spent the day with me yesterday," Bucky said, after they had eaten for a few minutes. "Literally _all_ day, Tasha," He added, fixing her with a stare over his plate. "No complaints, no having to go home, no things he had to do. He stayed the night, and slept on the couch."

Natasha had the decency to look impressed. And then, she said, "Alright, but why'd you have a bad night in the first place?"

"Wore the prosthetic all day Friday, and then kept it on for the date, too," He mumbled, choosing to look at the ceiling instead of at her. "Hurt too much to get any sleep."

" _James_ ," Natasha said, in a tone that really meant, 'you fucking idiot.'

"Tasha," he mocked, shaking his head. "I didn't want him to see my arm. The way it is, I mean," He shrugged, and popped another roll into his mouth. This one was better. He chewed, swallowed, and then added, "By the end of the date, he told me he didn't care, that he wanted me to be comfortable, so..." He shrugged again.

The fact that Steve truly didn't seem to care about his arm still surprised Bucky. Most people couldn't help but stare at it, or ask questions. Steve had barely brought it up, which made a tiny suspicious part of him wonder if he was just avoiding it altogether. But that didn't make sense either, but Steve had flat out told him he didn't want Bucky to pretend to be comfortable when he wasn't. So...maybe he really didn't see it as something to be concerned over?

"Good," She said, finishing up her food as daintily as she could. "When are you seeing him again?"

A dopey look took over his features. He dialed it back a little, settling for what he hoped was a normal happy face. "Date-wise? Friday. But I'll see him at school on Tuesday," Bucky answered, with a grin.

"Hmm," Natasha hummed, thoughtful. "That should be enough time..."

"Tasha?" Bucky said, narrowing his eyes. This wasn't good, whatever this was."Time for what?"

"Oh, you know," She said, flashing a predatory smile at him.

Bucky leaned over the table into her space, and repeated himself again. "Tasha, time for what."

She just laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise chapter for you! you'll get another tomorrow, too. i thought i'd just update it again just because i could.


	24. pop quiz!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this chapter, make sure you've read chapter 23! I updated yesterday as well and I'd hate for someone to feel like they missed something. So both 23 and 24 are new for this weekend. Thanks so much for reading, guys. You all are absolutely awesome.

"Pop quiz!" Bucky announced as soon as the bell was done ringing in the start of class. Almost everyone groaned in unison. It was only the second week of class, and here Bucky was torturing them with _another_ quiz. He stood at the front of the room holding a stack of papers, waving them at his students. "Everything off your desk except for a pen or pencil," He added, waiting for everyone to comply. Once all the desks tops were clean, Bucky started to hand out the quiz. "Same rules as last time, write your name at the top, the date, and what class period you're in. Complete sentences are not necessary."

He returned to his desk afterwards, keeping a careful eye on everyone. Bucky's mind drifted back over his lunch date with Natasha the previous day. She'd flat out refused to tell him what she needed time for, but from the devilish look in her eye, Bucky figured it was something to do with Steve. It wouldn't surprise him in the slightest if she decided she needed to warn him about Bucky's mental troubles. Well, if that was the case, Natasha would be wasting her breath. Steve already knew, and didn't seem to be bothered by it. Bucky hoped that wouldn't change if Tasha decided to butt in.

"Here, Mr. Barnes," Tom said, holding out his quiz. Bucky took it from him, raising his eyebrows in mild surprise over how quick he'd finished.

"Thanks, Tom," Bucky said, softly, waving him back towards his seat. A quick look at the answers he'd given proved that most of them were correct. Bucky was surprised, but proud. It meant he was doing his job decently well, despite having a shitty day last week.

The rest of the quizzes trickled in over the next twenty minutes. A stack of them grew on the corner of Bucky's desk, waiting for him to grade them. He could have done it right then and there, but he'd rather do them all at once later.

When the last paper hit the top of the pile, Bucky stood back up and made his way towards the front of the class again. He grinned at them. "Alright, so the rest of class, we'll be watching another video. This time, no quiz after so as long as you pay attention and don't drift off, notes won't be required." A few students laughed, boosting his confidence just a tad. "But," He paused, and gave them all a serious look. "If I notice too many of you not paying attention, I _will_ quiz you next time. Okay? Okay."

Bucky went back to his desk, pulled up the video he'd loaded earlier and set it playing. A quick dash across the room shut the lights off, and a twist of the wrist turned the volume up on the in-class speakers. The short documentary was about the Native American tribes of the region, and what had ultimately happened to them after the colonists arrived. Bucky had seen it close to a million times, so he didn't feel bad wheeling back to his desk to check his phone.

Two messages from Steve.

He tapped them open, and sat grinning like an idiot.

                   Hey handsome!

                   Hope your day is going great so far! ❤️

The little red heart filled him with a lovely warm feeling that seemed to spread from his chest outward. Bucky stared at it some more, before finally realizing that replying would be the correct course of action. He started typing, "Hey," before realizing he had no idea what term of endearment to use. He'd already done 'handsome' and they weren't far enough along in the relationship to feasible use 'love.' And 'babe' or 'baby' seemed too familiar, too. Bucky scrunched his nose up at his phone screen before realizing that he knew exactly what to call him.

                   Hey Stevie ❤️

                   It's going alright so far. Giving them a quiz.

                   How's yours?

He wasn't expecting a response right away, so he set the phone down on his desk. Bucky glanced up to check on his students, making sure to note if any of them had their heads down, or their hands in their lap. Cell phones were strictly not allowed out in his class, even he was blatantly breaking his own rule. One kid at the back seemed to be looking at his own thighs an awful lot. What was his name again? Will? Bill? Bucky glanced at his role call, just to check.

"Will!" Bucky said suddenly, louder than the video. The kid's head shot up, eyes wide. Bucky shook his own head. "Put it away or lose it," He said, pointing towards the kid's desk. "And don't say you don't have anything -- your face lights up whenever you look at the screen, kid." Will looked disappointed, but appeared to put his phone in his backpack. Bucky was sure he'd have it out before the end of the period, but they'd discuss that if it came to it.

The class came to a close about ten minutes later. Students dashed towards the door, yanking phones out from wherever they'd been hidden to check them for messages as they went to their next class.

As soon as his room was empty, Bucky grabbed for his own phone to check for any texts. There weren't any. Steve had be busy with his own students, so it made sense that he hadn't had time to reply yet. But still. Bucky shoved his disappointment down, and shut his phone back in it's drawer. The next round of kids were starting to trickle in.

The rest of his classes went by as well as the first had, minus the cellphone usage. If anyone else was texting in his class, they were good at hiding, because Bucky hadn't seen any hint of it the rest of the day. He got a chance to check his phone again during lunch, and was sad to see there was only two messages from Steve.

                   Ugh. So busy. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, okay?

                   Have a good rest of your day!

Bucky felt a little brushed to the side, but figured that Steve really must be busy if he couldn't text further. Steve usually sent a barrage of messages all at once. He sent back a quick, "okay!" and put his phone away. Steve was doing his job right now, just like Bucky was supposed to when he got off lunch. He vowed to leave his phone in the drawer the rest of the day. If he was going to yell at his students for texting, the least he could do was lead by example.

The next day, though, texting was rampant. By the time second period had come around, he'd confiscated 3 phones, and gave another kid detention for ignoring him when he asked him to quit it. What was so hard about putting your phone away?

Lunch time arrived, and with it came Steve. Bucky's stomach had been filling with butterflies for the last hour or so, in anticipation of seeing the art teacher again. But when Steve didn't appear in his doorway, Bucky's butterflies turned into just a sour stomach. Had he done something wrong? He frowned at the empty door, and after a minute, got up to go find him. The hallways were still full of students, so he had to bob and weave around them, but he arrived at the art classroom within five minutes.

Bucky raised a hand to knock on the door, but then caught sight of Steve on the inside. He was staring at something in his hand, grinning wildly.  He moved towards the door, holding a hand out for the knob to open it. Bucky got there first, yanking the door open and standing in the opening.

"Buck!" Steve said, the grin only growing wider. "I was just gonna come get you!"

"Yeah?" Bucky responded, unable to help a smile spreading on his own face. Steve was so cute when he was this happy. He practically bounced as he walked. Bucky saw him quickly double check their surroundings before leaning in to press a kiss to his face. Bucky beamed at him, pressing his hand against his cheek where Steve's lips had just been.

"Yeah! Sorry I got caught up talking to Natasha!" Steve said, shoving his phone into his back pocket.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, let his hand drop back down to his side, and stuck his head further into the classroom to look around. There was no sign of the red-headed dance teacher anywhere. He wouldn't put it past her to hide in a cabinet or duck behind something to mess with him, though.

"What'd she say?" Bucky asked, still looking suspicious. Was this what she'd been planning? Cornering Steve and talking at him until she got what she wanted? It sounded like her, alright. But he had no proof that's what had happened. Not yet, anyways.

"She just wanted to talk," Steve said, shrugging. "Ready for lunch?"

Bucky smiled, and bobbed his head once.

"Let's go!" Steve said, sounding way too much like a Sunday morning cartoon. He grinned brightly, took Bucky's hand, and marched him out of the classroom and down the hallway.


	25. a lunch date

The cafeteria was packed, as per usual at this time of day. Bucky frowned at the sheer amount of people in line, but let Steve lead him into the random line without complaint. The lines usually moved pretty quickly in order to ensure the kids had enough time to actually eat their food.

“This okay?” Steve asked, looking down at Bucky with a wide smile. Bucky grinned back, and stood on his toes to see what they were offering today. It looked like it was Chicken Fried Steak. There were various side options as well that seemed decent enough. Bucky turned back to Steve and nodded.

“Looks pretty good, actually,” Bucky answered, with another smile. The students in line around them were loud, shouting over one another to have their own conversations. He winced at the noise, but leaned closer to Steve in order to hear him a little easier.

“I thought so too,” Steve said, looking over the sea of high schoolers to the other lines. “The pizza looks gross today, and the hamburgers look dry,” He added, wrinkling his nose. Bucky’s heart thumped loudly in his chest at the sight. God, Steve was cute.

The line moved quickly after that, with the kids ahead of them knowing exactly what they wanted. Once it was their turn, Steve ordered two steaks, a side of mashed potatoes, a side of broccoli, and a tiny little vanilla cupcake. Bucky had no idea where the man actually  _put_ all the food that he ate. Bucky got himself one steak, mashed potatoes, a roll, and a cookie. He liked the cookies the cafeteria ladies made, and thus was a little bit of a sucker for them.

They paid, and made their way out of the cafeteria, stopping only to grab utensils and napkins. Nothing was said on the short walk back to Bucky’s classroom. Instead, they moved in comfortable silence, drifting between wandering students and other harried looking teachers.

“So where are you taking me for dinner tomorrow?” Bucky asked once they were settled in their usual lunch spots. He picked up his plastic fork and knife and began to saw at the chicken fried steak with difficulty. Plastic knives never did any good, but it wasn’t like they could offer real ones. Once he got a piece cut away, Bucky shoveled it into his mouth.

Steve took his time answering, carefully sliding a pad of butter into his mashed potatoes, opening his chocolate milk, and then stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork. “I’m not telling,” he said, looking up from his tray with a mischievous expression. “It’s a surprise,” He added, before taking a bite of the broccoli.

Bucky chewed, swallowed, and then raised his eyebrows at Steve. “A surprise?” He said, unsure of how he felt about surprises. Then again, he’d basically surprised Steve with where they were going, but that had turned into a mess fairly quickly. Hopefully this time around, they’d actually end up going to the place Steve wanted to take him.

“Mhm,” Steve hummed, already halfway through his first chicken fried steak.

Bucky eyed him, but decided to start eating his lunch in earnest instead of questioning him. After he was about halfway through he spoke up again. “What’s the dress code to this mysterious place?” He asked, flashing a smile at the end of his question.

“Hmm,” Steve started, dropping his fork down to his paper tray as he thought. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, before glancing back at Bucky with an amused expression. “Jeans and a nice shirt?” So that meant they could literally going almost anywhere.

Bucky nodded. “Alright, I can do that,” He said, putting a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. He swallowed, and then took a sip of his water bottle. A thought occurred to him. “What made you so busy yesterday?” Bucky asked, blinking curiously in Steve’s direction.

Steve let out a surprisingly heavy sigh as he let his head loll backwards for a moment. He took a deep breath, and then explained. “A kid decided to throw clay at another. They decided to retaliate, and it turned into a clay fight.” He rolled his eyes for a moment, and continued, “I had to call security down to my classroom. And everyone who threw clay got detention. It was…not great.”

“Oh shit,” Bucky responded, raising his eyebrows. A clay fight did not sound fun. At all. The most trouble his kids had gotten into was talking too loudly amongst themselves. Thank god no one had ever started a fight. Bucky wasn’t sure how he’d handle that. “Isn’t that stuff really heavy, too?”

Steve nodded. “It is. They weren’t throwing big chunks of it, though. Just enough for it to get all over my classroom. The principal called all their parents, and got permission to hold them all late so they could clean up my room.” He finished speaking, and started to peel the wrapper off his cupcake. “They were not happy with me about that, but my room’s clean now.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that, Stevie,” Bucky said, after a moment of watching Steve eat his cupcake. He finished up his food, and reached for his cookie. He nibbled at the edge.

Steve shrugged, and shoved the rest of his mini cupcake into his mouth. While he chewed, he wadded up his tray, stood, and dumped it into Bucky’s trash can. Once he could speak again, he said, “At least it wasn’t paint this time.”

Bucky shuddered. “That sounds horrible.”

“It was,” Steve said, making a face. He twisted, and stared up at the clock with a forlorn expression. Bucky glanced at it too, sad to see there was only five minutes left of the period. “I guess I should get back to my class,” Steve said, frowning.  There was a beat, and then a brilliant smile spread across his face as he said, “But I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You will!” Bucky replied, grinning just as widely as Steve. “I can’t wait,” He added, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

Steve leaned down, pressed lips against Bucky’s in a soft kiss, and then turned to go. “Text me your address later?” He asked, looking over his shoulder with a smile, as he pushed the door open.

“Okay,” Bucky said, waving. As soon as Steve’s bulk was gone from the doorway, he grabbed for his phone. A quick text with his address was shot off to him, leaving Bucky staring at his empty classroom. It wouldn’t be empty for much longer, which meant he should clear off his desk. He chucked the tray into his trash and leaned back against his desk chair.

Things were finally looking up in his life. He had Steve. He had friends. A steady job. His arm didn’t hurt so much anymore, as long as he took care of it the way he was supposed to. What else could he possibly want? Bucky smiled to himself, finally realizing that he was actually  _happy._

The bell rang for the next period, echoing down the empty hallway outside. Bucky sighed softly, and waited for his students to return.


	26. a real surprise

Steve was set to pick Bucky up in about fifteen minutes. Bucky was, for once, ready before he actually needed to be. He'd gotten home on time, cleaned up his apartment a bit, just in case. Then, Bucky shoved himself into an outfit that he'd picked out days beforehand. Like, back on Wednesday. He knew himself, and he didn't want to be running around like a chicken with its head cut off over a decision he could make in advance. A pair of dressier dark wash jeans, and a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Well, one sleeve pinned up, and the other rolled. He was debating on bringing a jacket, but it was still early September -- he wasn't going to actually need it.

Just as Bucky finished tugging on his favorite pair of boots, his phone buzzed on his coffee table. He grabbed for his phone, sliding it towards the edge of the table, and then letting it fall into his hand. Sure enough, the screen was lit up with one text from Steve.

                   I'm here! :)

Bucky beamed at the message, and hurriedly ran through his apartment to grab his wallet, and keys. Steve was driving tonight at his request. He shut the lights off, and thumped down the stairs to his front door. He yanked it open, and was greeted by the sight of Steve wearing a hunter green button down that looked butter soft, and  jeans rolled up at the ankles. The shirt was tucked in, with the sleeves rolled up to show off Steve's muscular forearms. He looked, once again, good enough to eat. Bucky blinked at him, making sure to look him up and down. The man could wear literally anything and make it look amazing.

"You look really nice, Stevie," Bucky commented, finally glancing up to grin at him. There was that urge to climb him like a tree again. He tamped it down -- they were on his porch in perfect view of the street.

Steve blushed, ducking his head. "Thanks, Buck," he said, holding his hand out for Bucky to take. Bucky held a finger up, and twisted to lock the door behind him. He shoved the key into his pocket, and then gladly took Steve's hand. Better to lock the door now before he got totally distracted by Steve and forgot to do it entirely. "I'm taking you somewhere special," Steve murmured, leading Bucky towards the passenger side of his red truck.

"Oh yeah?" Bucky said, with a quirk of an eyebrow. "Anywhere I know?"

"Probably not," Steve answered, with a short laugh. "But you should like it. I hope." He opened the door for Bucky, and squeezed his hand before letting go. Bucky slid into the seat, and grabbed the door handle to shut it before Steve could. Steve frowned at him, and squinted at him the entire walk around the front of the car to the driver's side. "I was going to shut that for you, you know," He said, as soon as he joined Bucky in the car.

"I know," Bucky said, with another grin. Steve flashed him another look, but started the truck, and drove off to who knew where.

"So..." Steve started, after a minute or two of driving. "Would it completely freak you out if I asked you to wear a blindfold?" He pointed towards the center console between their seats. A black silk tie sat on top, folded a few times onto itself.

Bucky turned his head, and tilted it, much like a dog would when it didn't understand something. Where exactly was Steve taking him? "Uh..." He said, blinking. "No?"

"I just want it to be a real surprise. For you to not guess where we're going..." Steve said, glancing towards Bucky as he drove. He turned his head back forward after a second, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Okay," Bucky answered, with a shrug. Why not? He trusted Steve. They weren't headed toward a secret murder lair or anything. He took the tie, and then realized he was going to have a hard time putting it on by himself. "I need another hand," Bucky mumbled, holding the tie up.

Steve let out a snort of laughter, and then nodded. "I forgot. Wait til we hit a red light, and I'll help you."

Bucky laughed, happy that Steve had forgotten he only had one full arm. It was wonderful to him that he was not just his disability in Steve's eyes. He ran his fingers over the softness of the tie, keeping an eye on the road for the next upcoming light. They hit a few green ones, and then finally one faded to yellow, and then clicked over to red as they approached.

"Here lean this way," Steve said, gently taking the tie from Bucky's grasp. Bucky did as he asked, shifting in his seat and moving closer. Steve quickly tied the fabric around Bucky's eyes, patting him on the shoulder once he was done. "It won't take long to get there, so sit back and relax," He said, with a soft laugh. "Can you see anything through that?"

"Nope," Bucky answered, readjusting himself back into his seat. He leaned back, letting his head fall against the headrest. The tie felt soft against his face, blocking all light out from his vision. He kept his eyes closed. Immediately, Bucky felt Steve turn the car right. They went straight for a bit, and then took a left turn. He quickly lost track, but it didn't matter. It wasn't like he could guess where they were going by direction alone.

Steve hummed some song Bucky didn't recognize while he drove. "How was the rest of your day?" He asked after a moment or two. Another turn, this time right.

"It was slow -- the kids didn't want to cooperate. Probably cause it's Friday," Bucky answered. It was weird to have a conversation with Steve when he couldn't see him. Bucky wasn't sure he liked it, but he kept the tie on.

"Yeah, my classes did the bare minimum today, too," Steve replied. Bucky felt the car slowing, and then come to a stop. He heard Steve unbuckle, and then felt a warm press of lips against his cheek. "We're here, but stay where you are, and keep the blindfold on. I'll help you out."

"Okay," Bucky answered, with a shrug. He felt around, and unbuckled himself while he waited for Steve to make his way around the truck. A sudden rush of air to his right meant the door had opened. Bucky twisted in his seat towards the door, and then Steve grabbed hold of his elbow as he took a step down from the truck. "When can I take this off?" Bucky asked.

"In a minute or two," Steve replied, directing him as they walked. "Step up here, and another...now," He said. Bucky followed his instructions, wondering where exactly they were. Steve pulled him to the right, and suddenly they weren't on solid ground anymore. Whatever they were walking on felt crunchy under his feet. Steve let go of Bucky's elbow for a half-second. A metallic creaking sound squeaked through the air a moment later. A gate, or a door, maybe.

Steve's hand returned to his elbow, and gently pulled him forward. The ground shifted underfoot again, changing to something much softer. They hadn't gone inside anywhere, so Bucky guessed it was grass. Steve led him a few feet forward, and then dropped his elbow.

"There's a chair right behind you," Steve murmured. Bucky slowly lowered himself into the chair, listening carefully to his surroundings. Soft music was playing nearby, and the tinkling sound of water was coming from somewhere to his right. "I'm gonna take your blindfold off now," Steve announced from behind him. Bucky closed his eyes, and felt the silk slide off his skin. He waited until it was completely gone before opening them.

They were in a backyard. Bucky twisted to look behind him, and recognized the red brick of the house. They were in _Steve's_ backyard.

Bucky glanced around, trying very hard to take everything in all at once. He was seated at an ornate black metal table, with three candles of various sizes burning in the center of it. Another chair sat empty across from him. Fairy lights hung from the trees, dipping down at various heights to add a soft light to the scene. Flowers of every imaginable color seemed to overwhelm the beds they were planted in, hanging over the edges of a small pond. The music he'd heard before still played, but Bucky couldn't place where it was coming from.

He turned, and saw tucked back into another corner was a large bed-sized swing. Around it were more fairy lights, and even more enormous candles flickering by the swing's posts. The whole backyard was lit with a soft, warm yellow light.

Bucky whipped around, looking for Steve, and found him seated at the chair across from him, looking quietly hopeful. "Did you do all this for me? Or does your backyard always look like this?" Bucky asked, eyes wide. He reached across the table with his hand, wanting Steve's. Steve slid his hand into Bucky's.

"I have two dogs, Buck," Steve answered, with a laugh. "It does not always look like this." He squeezed Bucky's hand, and then brought it upwards to kiss the back of it. "This isn't everything, though," he said, with a large smile. He looked over his shoulder towards the house. Bucky followed his gaze, and saw a figure emerging from the dim shadows of the covered porch.

Natasha stepped into the light of the yard, wearing black from head to toe. Her bright red hair was tied up in a bun on the top of her head. She smirked at Bucky, coming to a stop beside their table. She gently placed a basket full of bread down on the table. "Dinner will be out in fifteen minutes. Wine? Steve's got red or white," She said, with a grin.

Bucky stared blankly at her, gaping. Eventually, he pulled himself together to ask, "You're making us dinner?" This seemed so unlike her, he couldn't even fathom it. He was pretty sure neither Natasha or Clint cooked, so this wasn't ever a situation he would have thought of.

Steve laughed, and butted in before Tasha could answer. "No, no. _I_ made the dinner. She offered to help serve it." He squeezed Bucky's hand, and grinned at him.

"Why?" Bucky asked, turning back towards Natasha. She was staring down at him, one eyebrow raised, silently amused.

"Because Steve asked nicely. Red or white?" Natasha repeated herself, popping one hand onto her hip while she waited.

Bucky blinked at her, and then shook his head as if breaking himself out of a daydream. Where was he again? What was happening? And why was Natasha here? "Uh, white, I guess," Bucky answered, with a shrug.

"I also have beer, if you'd rather?" Steve said, looking unsure.

"Nah, wine's fine," Bucky said, going for reassuring. He smiled across the table at Steve. He had gone to all this trouble, just for him. "When did you do all this?" He asked quietly, once Natasha had walked back into the house. "It's beautiful," Bucky added, torn between staring at Steve and looking at their surroundings.

Steve blushed scarlet, shrugging as he spoke. "Uh, mostly a little every night since Saturday?" He looked around at his own yard, clearly proud of his work. He had every reason to be -- the backyard looked like something out of a fairy tale. Bucky couldn't believe anyone had gone to this much trouble, just for him.

He blinked at Steve, and then narrowed his eyes. "You spent six days doing this for me?" He asked, just to be sure he'd heard him correctly.

Steve nodded, closing his eyes and blushing even harder. "Yeah," He said, quietly. "I wanted to surprise you."

"Well, you did," Bucky said, with a pleased laugh. He reached across the table for Steve's hand, resting his on top of it. Steve twisted his hand so it lay palm up. Bucky threaded his fingers into Steve's, and then squeezed. "No one's ever done anything like this for me before."

Steve opened his eyes, and looked at Bucky with such unbridled affection that Bucky felt himself turn several shades of red. "I wanted to," He said, simply. "I actually wanted to -- " He cut himself short as Natasha approached their table with glasses of wine. She set one down in front of Steve, and then another by Bucky. She flashed them a predatory grin, and then meandered her way back inside the house.

"You wanted to?" Bucky prompted, leaning over the table to get closer to his date for the evening. Steve looked over his shoulder towards the door, watching it as Natasha once again emerged, this time holding a small basket covered with a towel.

"It can wait," Steve said, smiling.


	27. fantastic

Plunking the basket down on the table between them, Natasha stood hovering over them until they both looked up at her. “Garlic bread,” She said, pointing towards the basket. She forced a smile, and then disappeared back into the house.

As soon as she was gone, Bucky snorted with laughter. “She’s got such wonderful customer service,” He said, between giggles.

Steve laughed, shoulders shaking with the effort to stay quiet. “She agreed to do it right when I asked her, so…” He said, shrugging and letting his words trail off into nothing.

“Because she wanted to spy on us,” Bucky explained, letting Steve’s hand go so he could tug the bread basket towards him. Flipping the towel back, Bucky exposed half a loaf of what looked like home-made bread, slathered in butter and some sort of garlic sauce. It looked and smelled absolutely delicious. He helped himself to a piece, taking an enormous bite before sliding the basket towards Steve. Bucky was still chewing when he spluttered, “Oh my god, this is  _amazing_!”

Grinning like a fool, Steve took his own piece of bread. He nibbled at it before taking  a larger bite. “Hey – this turned out pretty good!” He said, taking a moment to look proud before devouring the rest of the garlic bread in his hand. “I just followed a recipe,” He admitted, with a grin. “I’ve never made garlic bread before.”

“Well, ya nailed it,” Bucky said, grinning stupidly across the table at Steve. He tugged the basket back towards him, and rifled through it to help himself to another piece of the bread. He was a sucker for good garlic bread.

“Don’t eat too much — I may have made too much food,” Steve mumbled, scrunching his nose up in what must have been embarrassment. He glanced over his shoulder, obviously checking if Natasha was on her way out.

“What’d you make?” Bucky asked, curious. The garlic bread hinted at something Italian — which meant Steve had remembered their discussion on favorite foods. He took a smaller bite of his bread, intent on actually savoring it this time around.

Steve chewed on his lip, narrowing his eyes at Bucky. “I don’t know if I should tell you or just have you wait. Tasha should be out any minute with the first course…”

“First….course?” Bucky repeated, eyes wide. “Just how many courses are there, Stevie?”

Steve didn’t get a chance to answer, as Natasha came twisting out of the house bearing two white plates. She sauntered over, and gently placed them down in front of both of them. Smiling a little bit more realistically, Natasha announced, “Dinner is served. First course is a prosciutto and pine nut salad with balsamic vinaigrette.”

Both plates were covered in a fancy looking salad, dressing lightly drizzled over the lettuce. Bucky stared at it, and then back up at Steve. “You made this salad, didn’t you? From scratch?”

Steve quickly stabbed some lettuce, and shoved it in his mouth. Probably to avoid the question. Bucky watched as he chewed, waiting to take a bite of it until he was done, just so he could ask again. Steve saw him staring, and swallowed thickly before saying, “Maybe?”

“You did, didn’t you?” Bucky asked, a blush creeping back up from where it had dimmed earlier. He grinned, and said, “You’re a giant food dork.” Steve had gone to all this trouble just for him. A warm buzzing sensation started up in his stomach, slowly spreading to all his limbs. Steve liked him. It was clear as crystal. Bucky just hoped his own affection was just as obvious.

He took his first bite of the salad, and nodded enthusiastically as he chewed. It was just as good as the garlic bread, actually, the more he chewed, he was certain it was even better.

“Is it okay?” Steve asked, flashing a puppy dog look with big blue eyes Bucky’s way.

Bucky blinked at him, and swallowed. “It’s fantastic,” He said simply. He smiled, but only after taking a sip of water to be sure he had nothing in his teeth. Bucky reached across the table quickly, and squeezed Steve’s hand. “I can’t wait to taste what else you made.”

Steve ducked his head, and hurriedly ate more salad. Again, Bucky assumed, to avoid actually talking. It was cute, just how humble Steve was in the face of compliments. He apparently didn’t know how to handle them, judging from the sheer amount of blushing and hiding that was going on.

They finished the salads quickly, leaving remnants of dressing behind on the white plates. Natasha came to collect them, hurrying out of sight before reappearing holding much larger plates. She set them down with a soft clink against the metal tabletop. “Second course is a three cheese lasagna with a meat sauce,” Natasha announced before twisting and walking back into the house.

“You made me lasagna,” Bucky said, lifting his eyes from the plate to stare at Steve. “You made my  _favorite_ ,” he added, feeling a little bit like he could cry.  After all this, after the blindfold, the yard, the surprise, the multiple courses, this…this was what was going to send the night over the edge of amazing.

“Of course I did,” Steve answered, with a laugh. He picked up his fork, and poked at the pasta. “Why wouldn’t I?” He asked, before taking a bite.

“I dunno!” Bucky said, eyes wide. What had he done to deserve this sort of treatment from anyone?

“C’mon, take a bite, please?” Steve asked, pointing his fork at Bucky’s plate. “I want to know what you think…”

Bucky stared down at his plate. The piece of lasagna Natasha had plated was enormous — easily enough to feed two, but Bucky fully intended on eating it all himself. The cheese was expertly melted, dripping down the sides. He wanted to study it more, but his stomach had had enough. He grabbed for his fork, and dug in.

It was easily the best lasagna he’d eaten since his grandmother had died. She’d been the one to introduce him to the food, making it almost every time they’d gone to visit, mostly by Bucky’s request. Steve’s was astonishingly close to hers, but not quite the same. There was something missing to make it match exactly, but it didn’t diminish Steve’s lasagna at all. The cheese was gooey, the sauce light, but tasty, and the meat just present enough to not weigh the dish down.

Bucky scooped another bite into his mouth, and moaned as he chewed. Once he had an empty mouth again, he said, “Stevie, literally one of the best lasagnas I’ve ever had.” He met Steve’s eyes, and grinned. “Not just saying that either.”

“You can’t possibly mean that,” Steve said, raising his eyebrows.

Bucky nodded, making a face at Steve as he did so. “But I do,” he retorted, before eating another forkful of the dish.

Steve’s cheeks went pink yet again.

They went quiet while they ate, Bucky pausing every now and then to compliment Steve’s cooking skills yet again. Eventually, their plates became empty. Natasha offered seconds, but Bucky had eaten every last speck of the lasagna that had been presented to him. He couldn’t possibly eat anything else. She took their plates, and left a wine bottle.

They drank.


	28. here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it! the end, of this fic, anyway. i fully plan to revist this verse at a later point in time. this is the longest completed thing i've ever written. if you like what you've read, please leave kudos and a comment! i'd love to hear from you. and, my dears, if you have requests for more of this verse, shoot them towards my tumblr page! i'll happily take suggestions. thank you so much for reading this, and sticking with me. it means a lot!!!
> 
> find me at [dreamwidth](https://birdjay.dreamwidth.org/) or [tumblr](http://drclairefraser.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/humdrumvee).

"This has to be one of the best nights ever," Bucky whispered, loath to break the quiet of the yard. The air was pleasantly warm, but not hot, with a soft breeze that sent the candles flickering every now and then. The sun had fully gone down, leaving them in the dim yellow glow from all the candles. They had shifted from the table to the swing in the corner of the yard. Steve had led Bucky here, laying down first, gently tugging Bucky to lay down next to him.

"Yeah?" Steve replied, lifting his head up from one of the scratchy outdoor pillows to look at Bucky, who had his head on Steve's chest. They were softly swinging, back and forth, moved by Steve's foot against one of the posts. It was just enough movement to be relaxing, a soothing motion that threatened to make Bucky even sleepier than he already was.

Bucky smiled softly up at Steve, and nodded. He was comfortably buzzed, after who knew how many glasses of wine, and couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be at that exact moment. He laid his head back down, and listened to Steve breathe underneath him. Bucky didn't want anything about this night to end.

"I agree," Steve said, a smile evident in his voice. Bucky didn't have to look back up to know it was there. He stayed quiet, enjoying the way the pond in the other corner seemed to create music with water. "Buck?" Steve asked, a beat or two later. His voice was a whisper against the soft noise of the pond. He shifted underneath Bucky, gently tugging him upwards. Bucky let him, eventually helping by wiggling upwards and settling his chin by Steve's shoulder. He blinked sleepily at him. "I wanted to ask you something earlier, but Natasha was hovering around and I didn't want her to hear..."

Bucky stared at him, a little confused. What could he possibly ask that Natasha didn't already know the answer to? "Ask away," Bucky said, a moment or two later, once it became apparent that Steve was waiting for some sort of response. "You know you can ask me anything. I've told you that before," He added, grinning stupidly.

 "I know," Steve said, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks. Bucky's eyes scoured his face, looking for some clue as to why Steve would be blushing after that statement. What about that was embarrassing?  "I, um," Steve started, rolling his eyes towards the sky to avoid Bucky's stare. He closed them, and shook his head, mostly to himself. "I'm really dumb with words," He said, scrunching his nose up. "I...ugh. I've had a really amazing time with you, this past week, and before," Steve said, finally managing to string some words together.

"I have, too," Bucky murmured, smiling again. This wasn't exactly news. They texted each other almost nonstop. Ate lunch together every other day. They'd spent over twelve hours together as their second date. They clicked, without having to work at it. It was the easiest relationship Bucky had ever had, in his entire life. Platonic or otherwise.

Steve opened his eyes to grin down at Buck, seemingly bolstered by his words. "That's good, that's really good," he said, voice super soft again. "I...I wanted to know if you'd...uh," Steve started, slamming his eyes shut again, and turning an even brighter red. "I-wanted-to-know-if-you-wanted-to-be-a-couple?" Steve said, all at once without pausing for breath.

It took Bucky a second to actually decipher the words from the mangled mush that tumbled out of Steve's mouth. Once he did, his eyes went wide, and he tilted his head to the side. "Aren't we...already a couple?" He asked, confusion back on his face.

Steve let out a whoosh of breath, like he'd been holding it. "Exclusive?" He asked, opening his eyes carefully to study Bucky's face.

"I just want you," Bucky whispered, making sure to keep his eyes on Steve. "No one else." How could there be anyone better for him than Steve? Who else would bring him an entire grocery store after a bad night? Who would bring him coffee in the middle of the day, just to check on him? Who would look at him like Steve was right now, like Bucky had answered every prayer he'd ever muttered?

Steve's face had lit up, glowing enough to rival the sun. Bucky couldn't see that face directed at him, because of him, and _not_ kiss Steve, so he did. He scooted up even further along the cushion, and slid his hand along Steve's jaw, and drew his mouth to him. He kissed him until he became breathless, only pulling away to study Steve's face carefully.

"It's like I've been waiting for you," Bucky said quietly, tucking himself back into Steve's side after a few thorough kisses. "And you're finally here."

Steve pressed his mouth to Bucky's hair, and whispered back, "I'm here now."

 


End file.
